


Twin Amounts of Trouble

by DarkerThenIThoughtPossible (Snromance)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abused Harry Potter, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Harry Has a Twin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-01-30 03:48:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12645474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snromance/pseuds/DarkerThenIThoughtPossible
Summary: Their entire lives they've depended on no-one but each other. But when the abuse they've put up with their entire lives gets too much and they realise that getting out of it by themselves isn't an option; depending on someone else becomes a necessity. Learning that it's okay to not walk life alone is a difficult lesson even when one is learning it with no distractions. But with a world that seems determined to see them dead and alone, it becomes even more imperative that they both learn this, and fast.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! That this fic came out so dark was kind of odd but I really enjoyed writing the first chapter so this should be fun. Warning though... it is dark. Trivia: This is the first thing I have posted on this site. I don't really know what else to put here, so yeah. (I would put enjoy but I don't really know if that's the right word...)

A figure hung, suspended by a pair of separated handcuffs, from the ceiling of the basement. His eyes drifted between closed and open as if fighting involuntary sleep. The room was dark, lit by a single bare lightbulb. It shone bright enough to reveal the dark liquid pooled on the concrete floor beneath both him and the other body curled against the wall. The sound of the authorities banging on the doors, and the ensuing arrest of Mr and Mrs Dursley of number four Privet Drive, filtered through the ceiling and the cracks around the door at the top of the staircase. But the prisoners didn’t stir; it was taking all of the energy they had to stay alive.

A grating sound came from the door at the top of the stairs as the bolt was pulled out of the door frame. The door swung open, flooding half of the basement with light, yet leaving him in shadow. Detective Holly Garrett made her way down the stained stairs. Her partner, Dave Tomlinson, followed close behind her, their powerful torches doing what the overhead light could not. It was only because of this that they noticed the grubby, trembling figure in the corner. Through further examination, the person appeared to be attached to a ring in the wall with the same type of handcuffs that suspended the figure in the middle.

Both were wearing a pair of battered, stained underwear - the figure tied to the wall also draped in a ripped bloody t-shirt three sizes too large.

Holly hadn’t seen anything like it in her twenty-one years of assisting Child Protective Services. In crimes concerning adults, she had of course seen worse, but an abuse case that had gone this far - that took a particular type of psycho. Her hand was sweaty on the grip of the torch as she approached the person suspended from the ceiling. To her left, Dave was already approaching the cowering figure in the corner.

She refocused her attention to the marionette before her; this close, it was obvious she was looking at a young boy. His chin rested against his bare, bloodstained chest; every bone stood out. His back showed a mess of black bruising and lashes, white ribs peered through the gaps in his flesh. It was only through being in such close proximity that she could tell he was still alive, his chest rising and falling minimally.

Her partner was coming up with similar, if slightly older, results. The small girl crouched next to the wall had the same markings as the boy, although the bruising had started to fade to a deep purplish green, the lashes scabbed over.

Holly was immensely glad they had had the foresight to ring the EMT’s before venturing into this version of hell. For, not only was it difficult to breathe through the inane stink of blood, sweat, and human waste, but it would have also been difficult to articulate precisely what they were seeing. It looked like the two children were verging on unconsciousness and didn’t have much time left. 

The detectives’ radios spat out the message that the ambulance was two minutes out. Both children seemed to be more aware as a result of the noise - the girl attached to the wall flinched and shrank further into the cold stone, her t-shirt slipping to reveal a boney, bruised shoulder.

Dave Tomlinson, like his partner, had never seen a case this bad before, something he was overly aware of as he gazed around the basement. He felt completely out of his depth and yet… he knew that if this was his kid, and they were in a situation like this, he’d want anyone, no matter how underqualified, to look after them to the best of their ability. He took in the pale, dirty figure crouching on the floor before him. She was trembling, long dark hair covering her face, the fine hairs on her arms raised.   
He stood, muttered to his partner that he would be back in a second, then hurried up the wooden stairs that were covered in a substance he’d rather not consider. 

Outside, he passed two policemen as they placed who he thought was the aunt of the two downstairs in the back of their vehicle. Within moments, he was back downstairs again, trying not to gag at the stench. Holly passed him on the stairs, telling him that she was going to get the cameras and toolkit. In his hand, he held a silver thermal blanket which would hopefully help the poor shivering girl in the corner. As tenderly as he could manage, and ignoring the flinch when he accidentally brushed his hand against her arm, he managed to cover her with it. Her head lifted slightly, unwashed hair falling back from her face. She looked apprehensive.

“My name is Dave, Dave Tomlinson. I’m a detective with Child Protective Services.” He waited a moment and gave her a friendly smile. “I’m here to get you out,” he finished, as calmly and, he hoped, comfortingly as he could, trying not to betray the turmoil he felt inside at seeing the dark bruise across one of her cheekbones.

Her face turned alarming blank.

“How?”

The word uttered had been so quiet he wasn’t sure he’d heard it. Dave assumed she meant how did they know.

“We got a tip off the other day.” Recognition flashed across the girl's’ face. “I can’t release who it was from, but once it was received, we came to investigate. When we arrived, there was fresh blood on the floor and a belt in the kitchen sink. We called for backup and followed the trail, it led down here.” He waited, but she stayed silent. After a moment he asked, “What’s your name?”

Her eyes flickered down to the floor, then back up to his face. “Isabelle.”

He nodded, smiling softly, “It’s a pretty name. How old are you Isabelle?”

“Thirteen.” Dave tried not to let the shock cross his features - the girl in front of him did not look anywhere near thirteen, nearer to nine or probably ten if he’d had to guess.

Isabelle’s eyes flicked sideways towards his colleague as she descended the stairs with their box of tools and camera. Her next question was pitched so quietly, it took a few seconds to register what she had said.

“Is Harry okay?” Her eyes were dark and pleading.

“Is Harry your brother?”

She nodded.

“Let me just go and check with my colleague, then I'll come back and tell you, okay?” he added and stood up.

Holly was pulling the toolbox into its full layout as he approached.

“The ambulance is just pulling up. Jeff has gone back to the station with the Dursleys, PC Smith is holding the perimeter. Instructions are to take intensive pictures but don’t attempt to get them down until the EMT’s get down here,” she muttered as she pulled out the various draws and supports. Dave nodded, picking up one of the cameras.

“How’s he doing?”

“His name is Harry, he’s in bad shape, but it’s not immediately life-threatening.”

“Yeah, Isabelle’s the same. Mildly hypothermic, but I guess that’s what you get if you’re shoved up next to a basement wall night and day,” Dave theorised, keeping his tone low.

Above them, the stairs creaked, seconds before the paramedics carefully descended into the basement. Their noses screwed up in disgust, eyes widening slightly as they took in the room before them.

Dave moved back over beside Isabelle as four paramedics fanned out at the bottom of the stairs, hauling their bags behind them. Her trembling increased slightly as one came closer.

“Harry’s going to be okay, Isabelle. Just like you’re going to be. You just have to let this nice man do his work, okay?” he soothed. The shivering didn’t stop, but it didn’t intensify either, which he took as a good sign. He nodded to the paramedic who shuffled a bit closer before introducing himself.

“Hi, Isabelle, is it? My name is Mark. My job is to detach you from the wall without hurting you. Is that okay?”

She nodded hesitantly. Mark smiled and lifted the pair of bolt cutters at his side.

“Good. Now, I need you to try and stand up a bit, to take the weight off of the metal holding you up. It will make it easier for me to cut through and hopefully not jostle your arms too much. If you want, Dave can help you. I will then cut through the chain holding the two bits circling your arms together. We’ll get you on a stretcher and on your way to the hospital after that. Sound good?”

“Okay,” she whispered, nodding anxiously. “Is Harry coming? I won’t leave him.”

Mark nodded, glancing back over his shoulder at his colleagues struggling to get the bleeding boy down from the ceiling.

“He might follow in a different ambulance because the ambulances aren't massive, but you won’t be apart long, only the distance from here to the hospital.”

Isabelle looked anxious but finally nodded. Mark, relieved that they had an agreement that would make life easier for all of them, held up his fingers.

“On the count of three. One, two, three!”

She pushed against the floor, muscles that had been stuck in an uncomfortable position for so long without a break screaming at the sudden use. Dave, seeing her struggling, grasped her under her arms and lifted slightly, ignoring the massive flinch at first contact. He wasn’t shocked at how light the teenager was or how fragile her arms felt. That, he had seen before.

The paramedic cut the chain holding the handcuffs together. Isabelle's arms fell to her sides, her body tipping forward; she was exhausted. Dave adjusted his hold on her, being more gentle than he had ever been. He slid one arm under the backs of her knees and one under the top of her shoulders, just underneath her neck, feeling a twinge of guilt and sadness as she whimpered slightly. Two more paramedics were waiting at the top of the stairs with a body board to strap her onto, and he carried her slowly up to them. He gently placed her on it, watching as they wrapped her in bright red blankets before wheeling towards the ambulance. 

He watched her get loaded into the vehicle, Harry following in the other only minutes after, before he turned and descended back into the hothouse of evidence. It didn’t matter that the walls reeked of pain and horror - he was beyond willing to find whatever evidence he could get his mitts on to prove the Dursley’s guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated 24/12/2018 after being betafied (is that a word?? xD) - I'm slowly working my way through them with my shiny new beta (who's awesome and far better at Englishing then I am... (and makes up less words)). So kudos to C-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, reviews appreciated but not required. 
> 
> -UPDATED 24/12/2018 with beta'd version - thanks again to Cezza The Amazing.... you should get that made into an official title... xD

An auburn-haired girl lay in a hospital bed, her dark eyelashes contrasting heavily with her bloodless skin. Her breathing was shallow and supported by the nasal cannula under her nose. If she had a bit more colour in her, she would have been said to have ‘unusual’ looks. However, the halo of filthy dark red curls around her head wouldn’t be the first thing a visitor would notice when they walked into her room, that would instead be the masses of leads, wires, and tubes attaching her to various machinery and medicines. 

She was awake, and yet she was not. Drifting in a sort of netherspace. Where her body had once been was numb. All she really knew of was the events that had led to here. 

\------------ TATATATAT--------------

They had been in the park, the same place they had been since 7:30 that morning. Their stomachs were aching with hunger and yet the need to stay away from the Dursleys for as long as possible was strong enough to withstand the hunger pangs. They both knew that they were riding the breaking point with the Dursleys’ after the events of last summer. Just as they both also knew that the truce was flimsy - one wrong move and everything would come crashing down. And yet, neither could bring themselves to tell anyone or to get out; no-one would believe them - or so they thought.

On this particular day, they had snuck out a couple of their textbooks along with some ink and parchment. They had been consistently having one major issue from the summer after their First Year at Hogwarts; nowhere to do their homework. It wasn’t as if they could just turn up at school with nothing done and the excuse, “We’re really sorry but our Uncle locked our books in the cupboard under the stairs over the summer, Professor Snape, so we couldn’t do the homework.” ‘Yeah because that would go down marvelously’ Harry thought with a slight snort. 

As it was, they had been back from Hogwarts for about a week and both had got through their Charms, Transfiguration and Arithmancy homework, something Harry was particularly proud of considering how long it had taken him to do even a one piece of homework last summer. Although he supposed this might have had something to do with having more chores than they knew what to do with last year. This year, the Dursley’s seemed to be doing their utmost to ignore them, a tactic which whilst being infinitely more pleasant, induced thoughts about how much worse it was going to be when they inevitably decided that they wanted their free slave labour back. 

Harry had just finished reading over a particularly tricky paragraph in his Potions textbook when his sister let out a notably frustrated sigh. He glanced up at her. She was completely ignoring the textbook in front of her. Instead, she was making what appeared to be a daisy chain. Her frustration seemed to be aimed at the daisy she was currently trying to attach. Ignoring her indignant “Hey!”, he plucked both parts out of her hands and deftly tied them together. 

She stuck her tongue out at him in response to his raised eyebrow.   
“So how’s the Runes work going, Isa?” 

It was Isa’s turn to raise her eyebrow incredulously. 

“Oh, fantastically, Harry. Can’t you tell by my intense focus?” 

He snorted and closed the textbook in front of him. It was nearing the time they would have to leave their sanctuary anyway, but it was always nice to end a day of essay planning with something different. Sometimes these ‘something different’s would be lighthearted in nature; but then other times, when something was on one of their minds, it was more serious - just as Harry intended it to be today.

“Do you ever wonder if we should let someone in?” he asked, swiveling so they were side by side and resting his head on her shoulder. 

Isa stiffened slightly, “Sometimes. But then we’d have a shedload more problems to deal with, and that’s if they believed us.” 

She tugged on his arm so he fell sideways his head now resting on her leg. Her hand slowly combed through his perpetually messy hair. 

It was almost as an afterthought when she added: “‘Mione knows some of it though.” 

Harry sat up, shocked at his twin’s revelation, “You told her?”

Isa pushed on his shoulder till he relaxed back into her, “No, she’s just very observant, and we’ve shared a dorm for 3 years. She asked me if withholding food was the worst it had ever been at the Dursleys, I said no.” Harry gave her a reproachful look, “What did you expect me to do? Lie to her?” 

At Harry’s reluctant head shake, she continued, “She was more than just asking me though, it was like she knew already but just needed me to confirm that what she was seeing was what she thought it was. She made me promise to use a code word if it ever got as bad again.” 

He felt a surge of affection towards their bushy-haired friend. It was nice to know that someone cared enough to look beyond what the twins portrayed. 

“What was the code word?” He asked with a chuckle, feeling a bit silly at using such a spy-related term. 

“Volo - it’s Latin for Wish.”

Harry nodded, picking up Isa’s abandoned daisy chain. 

“I really hope we never have to use it.” He said, turning it over in his hands. 

Isa nodded, knowing that the consequences of that would have ripples reaching far beyond themselves. 

Neither of them spoke for quite a while, both picking the daisies that littered the floor of their small field. It was only when the clock was striking 5 that they could bring themselves to move.   
Without a word, Harry presented Isa with the daisy chain, now longer and tied so that it was a loop. She took it, happily placing it on her head. 

“Princess of the Park,” Harry smirked. 

“Oh shut it, you.” 

Harry chuckled and ran a hand through his hair, dislodging the daisies seemingly woven through it. A look of confusion flashed across his face for the briefest of seconds before being replaced by amused understanding. He raised his eyebrow at her and combed his hair a tad more thoroughly. 

Isa looked disgruntled, “Do you have to ruin my masterpiece? That was the most handsome you’ve ever looked!” 

He mock gasped, his hand flying to his chest, “You wound me, sister! I’ll have you know that I’m always handsome.”

Isa snorted, grabbing her Runes textbook and the muggle notebook and pen off the grass. Harry followed her example with his Potions text before rising swiftly to his feet, knowing that they were pushing it for time if not late already.

They walked back to Number 4 Privet Drive in silence, the dread of the inevitable confrontation weighing heavily on their minds. They had no idea of what would set it off, only that it would happen - guaranteed by Aunt Marge’s ballooning at the end of last summer. Even the twins use of Sirius’ name at the very beginning of the summer hadn’t relieved the palpable tension; if anything, it had made it worse. 

Harry opened the door. The hallway was empty, but the kitchen light was on. Unfortunately the monotone tenor of Dudley’s voice droning away in the next room could be heard, meaning that if Isa and himself were lucky they wouldn’t be spotted and could make it up to their room. They both prayed that their uncle had had a good day at work and so wasn’t going to be in a moaning mood and as such, think of them; but it was with sinking hearts that he heard the words “Potter” “freak” “stick” in the same sentence. They both knew that thanks to the events of the past few years this family now both feared magic and were angry with it. 

This being said, Harry knew that if their wands were found on them, they - the wands - would meet an unfortunate end.

Isa, on the other hand, was toying with the idea of running and never looking back. However, beyond actually getting out of here, she knew that it could never work. Dumbledore for one would never believe that the threat posed from inside the house was greater than that from outside the house and so wouldn’t move them. His thoughts on this were clear from their confrontation at the beginning of second year, where, fearing for repercussions after the incident with the Masons, Dobby and running away to the Weasleys, she had spoken with the headmaster several times on their removal from Privet Drive. Every time resulting in a lightly padded ‘No - I’m sure they can’t be that bad, see how it goes, Miss Potter’. They could always go rogue, abandon magic and all the dangers it possesses. But even the most ignorant of people had to acknowledge that this would most likely just leave them defenseless to Voldemort and the Death Eaters. All this without even taking into consideration her brother’s stance on honor and responsibility. No, they would have to stay - for now.

Harry held out his hand, Isa looked at him questioningly.

“Wand and books,” he mouthed, tugging on the book in her hand

She handed them both over, watching as he quickly bent and stuffed both wands, sets of notes and textbooks deep in the hydrangea bush next to the front door. They took a deep breath before crossing the threshold of the house.

Uncle Vernon exploded out of the sitting room, his face inventing a new shade of red. 

“Decided to come back have we? Had a nice day trip?”

Uncle Vernon’s voice sounded unnaturally loud as it reverberated off of the narrow hallway. His eyes were narrowed into mean piggy slits that looked tiny on his huge ruddy face. 

“Found that your freakishness can’t get you the necessities of life? Like food! And a roof over your head! Because only normal, hardworking people are able to provide a stable environment and enough financial security to provide the necessities of life! That is why we are landed with you! Because your dratted parents, the freaks that they were, didn’t have a normal hardworking bone in their bodies. They couldn’t even hang on to life, they were that pathetic at living! So some low life scumbag decided to burden us with your pathetic excuse for an existence, and this is how you repay us for our generosity?! By coming in late at night, bringing in foliage and mess and…. and… FILTH!!! I WILL NOT STAND FOR NORMAL HARDWORKING PEOPLE BEING DEGRADED BY THE LIKES OF YOU!” 

With each word he said he took a step forward, so by the end of his tirade, his face was almost touching Harry’s, spittle landing on the boy’s glasses. 

Harry was seething at this point and fighting the urge to wipe down his glasses. He wanted to shout back that his parents had been the most hardworking people in world but knew that when his uncle got like this, the best way to get him to stop was to let him scream it out. Despite his brain knowing this, his heart was telling him to shout back, to stand up to the bully. In the end, they compromised, deciding that if he said one more thing about their parents then he would say what he was thinking. 

Isa was thinking along the same lines and was trying desperately to hold off the torrent of abuse that was pouring through her head. She was starting to regret leaving her wand outside.   
Vernon stopped for a second and regained his breath before starting out again in a slightly quieter tone. 

“It was bad enough, with you blowing up Marge. And then with those… freaks in MY house, telling ME to forgive YOU, for blowing up MY SISTER! And then we’re told that you have a god-father who’s a mass- murderer. Not that it’s a surprise that your parents gallivanted with those sorts; considering wha-” 

Harry’s fist stopped his Uncles rant. The teenager spun towards the door on his heel, his twin halfway out the door they hadn’t actually closed. A hand grabbing the back of Harry’s t-shirt and throwing him down the hallway put a stop to Isa’s escape. Without thinking, she hurled herself back into the house, making beeline for her brother. The massive meaty hand closing tightly around her hair put an end to her plans. 

“Don’t think it’s just your brother I have plans for, oh no Missy, just because he committed the last offense doesn’t mean that you’re suddenly innocent of all crimes. So, you better get comfortable”

\----------TATATATAT-----------

Her eyes shot open. She couldn’t really feel her body, but that wasn’t at the top of her concern list. That top-spot would go to her brother. From what she remembered, the nice man who had helped her at the Dursley’s had said that they would be together at the hospital. Thankfully, he had been telling the truth as her eyes soon found him in the only other bed in the room. However, she had also found something else - someone else. 

Their Headmaster, the same one who had been so eager to push off her worries about the Dursley’s previously, was sitting in the chair in the corner of the room. His face seemed older than she’d seen it last, his eyes without their characteristic twinkle.   
“Headmaster? What- How did you know?”

“Ah, Miss Potter, a certain Miss Granger thought to inform me of your predicament and her actions regarding it. I believe I owe you and your brother my deepest apologies.” 

“That’s not good enough,” Harry said quietly, his eyes hard, his jaw set. Isa tried not to jump, not having realised that he was awake. 

Dumbledore sighed gently. 

“I am aware of that, Mr. Potter. And you have my assurance that I will regret my decision to place you both there for the rest of my life.”

The old man paused for a minute. Isa really hoped he wasn’t waiting for an assurance of forgiveness; neither twin was leaning in that direction. An attack on either twin would result in no warmth from the other.

“As it is, we need to find another suitable place for you both to reside until you come of age. Under normal circumstances, you’d go to Sirius, bu-” 

“As we should have in the first place.” Harry snapped. 

Isa glanced at him, his hands were clenched.

“As I have said, Mr. Potter, I am sincerely sorry for all harm that has befallen you or Miss Potter through the results of my actions.” 

Harry met his look defiantly; it was clear there wasn’t going to be much forgiveness in that area for a while. 

Isa internally sighed, she understood that Harry was angry at Dumbledore for placing them there in the first place and for not believing her when she asked to be moved, but that he was being this verbal about it to one of the only people in any position to help them probably meant that something deeper was going on inside her brother. 

“Go on, Professor?” She added politely.

“But as Sirius is currently on the run, that wouldn’t work. I was thinking perhaps the Weasley’s if both Molly, Arthur, and yourselves are amenable to the idea that is?” 

They both nodded, Harry somewhat reluctantly. 

“Very well, I shall speak to them about that when I inform them of your change in residence,” Dumbledore said.   
“About that, Professor, would you mind if you held off on that for a few days? Just so we can acclimatise?” Isa asked hesitantly. 

Dumbledore nodded.

Harry hesitantly addressed Dumbledore, “What’s going to happen now?” 

“Well, I’m afraid that being transferred to Saint Mungo’s is pretty much impossible without the entire Wizarding World finding out which I assume neither of you is comfortable with.” 

At their rapidly shaken heads, he continued.

“There are two options available to you, remain here, hopefully keeping the Wizarding World in the dark and Madam Pomfrey will do what she can when you are discharged from here. Or I can involve a few friends and we could, for lack of better phrase, fake your deaths in the Muggle World, and move you to the Hospital Wing immediately. Both have their own respective negatives. For example, should you choose the latter the Dursley’s would receive charges akin to murder as opposed to grievous bodily harm. Whereas should you choose the former, you will be faced with potentially lasting issues from your injuries and a longer stay in hospital.”

The two Potter’s eyes met. As one they faced Dumbledore and asked to wait. 

Dumbledore smiled for the first time since entering the room.

“I had a feeling you would choose that route - it’s what your parents would have done. Very well, I shall make the arrangements, someone will be around in the next couple of days informing you of the updates in your guardianship situation. I must be off, I will see you both at the start of September, if not before.” 

With that, he turned on his heel and left the room, intent on talking to their muggle Healer before he went back to Hogwarts - he would go to the Burrow either tomorrow or the day after.

As soon as he was out of sight, Isa snorted, “Well that was brisk.” 

Harry barely smirked, his forehead furrowed. 

“Alright, this is getting ridiculous, what’s wrong?”

He shook his head. 

“Harry, tell m-”

She gasped, the reason for his temper suddenly becoming obvious.

“You blame yourself. Oh, Harry, it’s not your fault, it’s their fault.”

The words seem to explode, pouring out of him as if previously trapped behind a dam and she’d opened the floodgates.

“It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. Everything that happened at the Dursleys was my fault. I punched him. I started it. It was my shirt he caught hold of. If he hadn’t caught it we could have just run and somehow found our way to either Ron's or Hermione's. Or we could have just snuck back in at night, grabbed our stuff and our wands out of the bush and gone. No-one would have known.”

Isa wanted nothing more than to hug him, but with all the wires and tubes coming out of her she wasn’t sure she could manage it without removing something that wasn’t meant to be removed so she settled for the next best thing. 

“Harry, it’s not just your fault. If it was in any way your fault then you’d be the one on trial; which you’re not, so it’s not your fault. Did you single-handedly make the Dursleys abusive? No? Well, then it’s not your fault. We all share a part of the blame for this, but it was a combination of decisions by lots of people, not just you. Okay?” 

He just looked away. 

Isa sighed and closed her eyes, hopefully, he would think over what she had said. If not, well, she wasn’t going anywhere.


	3. Chapter 2

“Little Whinging, Surrey.”

The dementor’s slightly rotten hand withdrew into the folds of its cloak as an affirmation of its new instructions.

Under the hood of their cloak, not so different from the dementors own, the conspirator smiled. This would teach the Half-Blood swines to embarrass the wizarding world. Allowing themselves to be attacked by muggles; how low could you sink and expect not to be plagued by the consequences? Some muggle filth had reported that the two underaged victims had been transported to a local hospital - but they hadn’t been the target. No, the investigation that would have inevitably followed the death of the remaining Potters would be far more thorough than that of a dozen muggles. 

After all, it would not do to have aurors swarming around after such a… minor intervention.

Doing harm to the Potters and muggles whilst leaving the actual murder of the children to the Dark Lord; their master would be so proud. 

\--------TATATATAT----------

It was the rustle of pages that woke him up. Hermione was sitting in the chair in between his own bed and Isa’s, eyes focused intently on the text in her lap. Her eyes didn’t waver from the page, even as he reached out and attempted to locate his glasses on the side table with the hand that wasn’t attached to the monitors. It was only when something grey and oblong impacted with the floor (which he later discovered had been the TV remote) that her head snapped up from her reading. 

“Harry! You’re awake! Are you okay? Stupid question. Of course, you’re not. Isa hasn’t woken up yet-” 

“Hermione, breathe.” Harry inserted with a smirk.

She tossed a small glare in his direction which would have had slightly more impact had relief not been written all over her face. He wouldn’t be joking if he was that hurt she reasoned with herself, only to be hit in the face by the realisation that this was Harry; he would be joking even if missing all four limbs, just to make everyone else feel better. She resisted the urge to hug him to death and focused on how she could ease his pain. But to do that, she needed to know the whole story.

“Harry,” she said, cautiously looking away and down at the book still held loosely in her grasp, “what happened after I left?” 

He looked away, his face wiped of all emotion. 

“I don’t want to talk about it, Hermione,” he said quietly.

For a second Hermione looked as if she wanted to push the issue, but a slight shake of the newly woken, slightly woozy head of Isa halted her in her tracks. A second shake stopped the words that would alert the girl's brother to her newly conscious state. 

The room was silent as each was absorbed in thought. 

Harry -having a rare moment of clarity- glanced up at Hermione’s face. She was biting her lip, clearly needing to ask but unable to bring herself to broach the subject.

“Why did you do it?” He asked, curious as to what had led to the series of events he’d witnessed.

“I was worried about you. Isa wasn’t replying to my letters, then one came back unopened - so I spoke to my Dad and asked if I could come over and see if everything was okay in person. He drove me over, you know the rest.” Hermione explained. 

Harry nodded.

Isa spoke up, “I don’t.” 

Two pairs of eyes flicked towards her.

Harry could practically feel Isa’s confusion as he began explaining the side of the story his sister hadn’t been privy to. 

\-----------TATATATAT----------

It had been three or four days since he had punched his Uncle, to say they were paying for it dearly would be an understatement. 

The Dursleys had reverted back to using their free slave labour, but with a slight alteration to the previous method. One of them would be set a list of chores to complete by 6 PM, whilst the other would be kept in the basement as insurance. This wouldn’t have been an issue if the list of chores had been of a length suitable for one person. However, it wasn’t. The list was as long as it had been the previous summer - when there had been two of them to finish it. Their incentive to complete said chores was the promise of the others health.

On this particular day, it was Harry’s turn to work his way through the list. After a particularly nasty thump from Vernon’s belt the day before (as punishment for the Dudley sized fingerprints appearing on the windows his sister had cleaned during the day), he was suffering. His t-shirt, hastily rammed over his head before he’d stumbled up the basement stairs, was sticking to him, even without the overbearing heat of the summer’s day.

It was just after midday, and he was about a third of the way into the list, something which worried him greatly. His hair, limp and less wild than usual, lay damp against his forehead under the blistering sun. Muscles tensing as he attempted to plough the baked soil. He was working in the front flower bed that lay flush against the pavement, turning over the soil before planting some tiny individual flowers Aunt Petunia had bought from the garden centre. 

His attention was drawn from the flower-bed however when two sandal-shod feet appeared in his line of vision and stayed there. Harry glanced up, squinting against the sun to try and see the features of the person standing in front of him. 

Her bushy hair gave her away. 

“Hermione?” Harry enquired, shocked.

Said witch squatted down, so they were on the same level. 

It was then that the bruises on his face and arms became visible. 

“Harry! What happened?” 

A lump grew in his throat and his eyes prickled. He never usually cried but the events of the past few days had resulted in a tangle of guilt in the pit of his stomach. 

Seeing this, Hermione knelt and reached out to gently enclose him in a hug. He flinched when she first extended her arms but didn’t move as she gently wrapped her arms around him and just as quickly withdrew so as not to attract attention.

Harry swallowed, and looked into her eyes. It was when he saw only kindness and worry that he decided that this was the opportunity they were going to take to get out. 

Vernon’s voice lashed across the front garden, “BOY!” 

Harry’s eyes filled with panic as he hastily got to his feet. 

“Volo.” He said to her, before grabbing the gardening equipment and turning back towards the house, hoping that all sign of tears was gone from his face. 

It was as his Uncle slammed the door and started berating him for daring to talk to a nice, normal, respectable citizen (and for making more work for his aunt by bringing filth into the house) that he followed his sister's footsteps in realising that maybe they didn’t have to go it alone. 

\------------TATATATAT------------

Isa’s mouth dropped, “So that’s why he was in such a foul mood that day, I had no idea you were so obvious about it, Harry. I thought he’d just caught you talking offhandedly.” 

Harry shook his head, “No, it would have looked like we were flat out having a conversation. He might have even seen the hug, that would explain why the chores stopped after that - he was worried I had told someone. One person making a complaint would have been checked out weeks later if not months, two would have made it more believable.” 

Isa shook her head, “Anyway, Hermione could you come over here please?”

Hermione looked at her inquisitively. 

She rolled her eyes, “Just do it.” 

Hermione carefully placed a bookmark in her book and placed it on the floor. She got to her feet and carefully came over to Isa’s bedside. 

The girl in question carefully raised heavily bandaged wrists, fighting back a wince, and smiled. Hermione smiled back, and gently hugged her, ignoring the small flinch. 

As Hermione moved to go back to the chair she had previously been sitting on, Isa shook her head and snagged the hand that was moving away from her. 

“No, stay,” she said.

Hermione looked conflicted for a brief second before hopping on the bed beside her. 

Isa rested her head on her shoulder, and thinking back to the horror that was the past couple of weeks thanked her in a whisper. Harry turned his head so he was facing them and met Hermione’s eyes.

“Thank you,” 

“You’re both more than welcome,” she said grabbing hold of Harry’s hand across the gap and squeezing gently. 

“You know,” Hermione added, “Dad says that I can come and keep you company during the week whilst they’re at work.” 

Harry gave her a shy smile, appreciating the gesture. 

Isa didn’t react, watching figures walking along the hallway outside their room through the lightly frosted glass. She was thinking about the conversation they had had with Dumbledore the previous day - how they had made the decision never trust him again. At least not without serious thought about whether he was worthy of that trust. It was tempting to just give up on the constitution of trust and opt only to trust her twin, one of the only people who had never let her down. But then he wasn’t the only one who had been unswervingly loyal in recent years. Their friends at Hogwarts; Ron, his temper sometimes threatening the peace but otherwise willing to sacrifice himself to the mercy of a stone chess-set for two kids he’d known for 9 months. Ginny, somewhat reserved until she found that even being possessed by Lord Voldemort couldn’t push them away and since then had flourished into a girl who was confident in herself and her ability to protect those she loved. Neville, not quite as close as the other two, but still a solid friend who had your back when you needed it. Finally, Hermione, the girl who came across from the other side of London just to check that everything was okay when she thought her friends might be in trouble. Those people deserved their trust too. 

“Dumbledore came round yesterday, ‘Mione-”

“Said he was sorry…” Harry snorted derisively, “as if being sorry ever did anyone anything.”

“Harry!” Isa warned.

“No, Isabelle, despite repeated warnings about it, he went and shoved us back with them. He knew the danger! He just chose not to do anything about it because his precious blood wards were too important to him. More important than keeping us alive to actually use the blood protection.” 

“But there’s no need to be rude about it-”

Hermione shrank back into the bed as she took in Harry’s words... his accusations. Surely Dumbledore wouldn’t have so blatantly disregarded her best friends safety over some protection. She mentally shook herself. Irrespective of his motives for putting them there in the first place and of how far he believed the Dursleys would go, he should have listened to what they were saying about their relatives and withdrawn them from the home at the first sign of trouble; no protection was even near worth what they had gone through in both their childhood (if you could call it that) and right now. 

She exhaled the breath she’d been holding and sifted through the fragments of the once rose coloured glasses scattered through her brain, ignoring the argument that had continued to rage around her. 

“Dumbledore should never have put you there, he was wrong,” she whispered, almost to herself.   
Her statement cut through the air like a knife halting the words the twins were slinging at each other. 

Isa’s eyes widened with realisation. She grabbed Hermione’s hand (the one not still held by her brother) and squeezed gently, attempting to convey that even though Hermione’s world was currently shaking, everything would be okay. 

The door opened, all heads turning in its direction, admitting a burly man in a police uniform and a nurse. 

The policeman took a few steps inside the room, revealing another woman, also dressed in the Police standard uniform.

“I’m going to have to ask you both to limit this questioning to 15 minutes, and if at any point the patients get distressed, you will need to halt the interviewing process for today,” the nurse said sternly, but not unkindly. 

Hermione got off the bed and walked towards the door. 

As if sensing the twins confusion she turned towards them with a sad, guilty smile and stated, “Section 20.2. Subsection J of Police powers states that the police have the right to interviewing witnesses in private unless that person is under the age of 18 in which case they must either be in the presence of their legal guardian or said guardian has given permission for the statement to be obtained in their absence. Either way, I'm not allowed to be in here. I’ll be back in as soon as I can, I promise.” 

The twins glanced across at each other, their argument not forgotten, but shelved until they were alone. Both of them had paled dramatically with their friends' revelation. 

The Policeman nodded approvingly and turned back to the twins as the door closed. 

“My name is Constable Williams, my partner, Detective Lynett. We’re here to ask you some questions about the incident that was discovered at Number 4 Privet Drive on Friday 15th July 1995. Our records state that you were both found at the scene with multiple injuries, which are listed here as being consistent with those of aggravated assault and chronic malnutrition. We’d just like to know what led up to the events of that day and who, for lack of better term, is to blame for it.”

The silence was thick and lasted for so long that Harry started to think of it as a safety blanket; if it was silent, they didn’t have to answer the inevitable questions that the Police had for them and everything would stay the same. Nobody would have to know how weak he was, how completely unable he was to get them out of the situation fate had forced them into. 

However, the silence didn’t last forever and neither did their reprieve. The questions came thick and fast, their answers very much less so. 

“Who partook in the physical abuse?” 

“Our -” Harry hesitated slightly, not having thought of it as ‘abuse’ before, only as something which happened when they did something the Dursleys didn’t like; guilt and shame coursed through his veins like adrenaline during a Quidditch match. He swallowed harshly, “Vernon Dursley mainly.” 

He could feel the tension in his sister from across the gap between them; her hands were clenched at her sides, her face pale and slightly damp. 

“And you, Miss Potter?” 

Isa swallowed, trembling slightly, “V-Vernon Dursley was behind m-most of it.”

“Most of it? Mainly?” the policewoman, Detective Lynett, asked, her eyebrow raised.

Harry could have hit himself. Why didn’t he just say that it was just Vernon? Dudley, after all, hadn’t really partaken in the events of this summer beyond making food slightly more difficult, occasionally harassing them whilst they were in the park and being the catalyst for the last couple of weeks. And even then the last couple of weeks were more his fault then Dudley’s, if he had just kept his temper, it would have been a bit unpleasant for a few days but they wouldn’t have been placed in the position they were in now. Dudley had occasionally contributed to his father’s campaign with the odd slap or push when they were trying to complete chores but aside from that, he wasn’t really guilty of much. It was mainly his father’s influence and doing. 

“Mr Potter?” 

Harry warred with himself. Dudley was no more guilty than himself, in fact, he’d probably done less then Harry himself had done. But then the number of times he’d pushed them both around - the number of times he’d pushed Isa around, he should pay for that if nothing else. 

Before he could decide on what path to take a small voice spoke out from beside him. 

“Dudley occasionally was violent towards us, but nothing like what Un-Vernon... did,” Isa whispered, her eyes huge and assessing. 

The male police officer exchanged looks with his partner before referring to the notes before him. 

“And, what was your relationship with one Petunia Dursley?” 

Harry looked around the room, his attention wavering. He could feel the sneaking tendrils of tiredness entering his mind, winding around his thoughts. Unlike his sister, Harry hadn’t really slept since their talk with Dumbledore; his mind occupied with thoughts of guilt and blame. He could hear Isa answering the Policeman but the words she was using didn’t register. Sleep seemed welcome now, a tide coming in to sweep away all evidence of trauma. 

The conversation between the Police and Isa seemed to continue forever as he watched through lidded eyes. His sister seemed to get more and more agitated, her eyes darting towards him what seemed like every couple of seconds.

All of a sudden, her shoulders slumped and the Police sat back in their seats. Harry attempted to focus on what was being said, the weight of what seemed like the world pressing down on his eyelids. 

“-time here is nearly up but we’ll file your statements when we get back to the station. Your appointed lawyer should be in contact with you over the next couple of weeks unless you choose to find another. They will inform you of trial dates and will be responsible for keeping you updated on the progress of the case. Now is there anything else you need before-” 

It was as sleep succeeded in rolling through his mind like a fog that the door opened to readmit the nurse (accompanied by Hermione) who Harry later deduced must have told the Police that the 15 minutes were up. 

He felt a twinge of relief somewhere in the back of his head before he allowed his straining eyes to close. 

\------------TATATATAT-------------

Vernon Dursley sat down in his cell -having just finished with the lawyers- confident that his actions couldn’t be interpreted as anything other than protecting the general public from the freaks. Satisfied that his preposterous charges were on their way to being dispelled, he resumed his current favourite activity; musing over how unfair being left with those freaks had been in the first place. 

If it wasn’t for them then they would be in this mess. Their freakishness wouldn’t have been close enough to infect his family and he wouldn’t have had to take drastic measures to remove the taint their parents had inevitably placed on them. Not that it had worked. But at least he had tried to protect the decent, hardworking people from their evilness. 

And then there had been that situation last year with Marge. It was obvious that that school they supposedly attended was doing more harm than good. A nice hard beating had worked for the brats before they ‘attended’ that school and had made them far more tolerable. No, it was clear that that school was giving them a higher opinion of themselves then they had any right to have. Only animals and scum attacked hard-working citizens. Even general society agreed with that; those who attacked others were deemed to be just as uncivilised as animals. Therefore when his brave son had spoken out about how the brats had used their freaky sticks it had become clear to him that they were no more than animals. And as a result, they should be treated as such. Animals were beaten into submission. He had just done his part for society and saved it the trouble of waiting for the freaks to slip up and be caught. It was a preventative measure.

A smile spread across his face. Oh, how he was looking forward to proving to those brats that they deserved it - that people thought they deserved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATED - 24/12/2018 - Shiny new betafied version up :) Thaaaaaaaank you Cezzeroni the Magnificent... xD


	4. Chapter 3

She stepped out of the alley into the midday sun, her clothes foreign and uncomfortable. However, she still felt completely at ease in her surroundings. Whilst the equipment she could see being hauled around was different from what she was used to - the atmosphere and the situation were very familiar. 

The two types of people - the ones in uniform running around looking harassed and panicky. And then those who stood back, attempting not to get in the way (not that she really did much of that) yet still urgently hurling questions at those attempting to get on with their jobs. Everyone there had something in common, they all were trying to complete their tasks as quickly as possible. One of the sets of Uniformed people (the ones with the funny hats whom she assumed were the Muggle equivalent of Aurors) looked slightly more perplexed then Skeeter thought they must usually look. But then again, that wasn’t particularly surprising for two reasons; firstly, they were Muggles and this was a magical crime; they couldn’t even see what did the attacking... let alone actually know what it was or what it had done. Secondly, they were Muggles, from what she could tell from her minimal interactions with them, it was a miracle that they solved their own crimes without magic. 

She pushed through a throng of her Muggle counterparts just in time to catch the end of a prepared statement from who she assumed to be the head of the Muggle Aurors. 

“-12 people including men, women and children. All of which appear to have, after a brief struggle, entered into a vegetative state. It is not clear at this moment in time as to who or what caused this tragedy. Excuse me, I must be getting back.” 

Miss Skeeter tapped the end of her quill against her lips. Now, how to make this story sensational? An old friend in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had sent her an owl the second she’d heard where the dementor attack had taken place. She had claimed that it was close to the location an Underage Magic sent to Harry Potter a few years earlier had been addressed to. Her friend hadn’t been able to remember the exact address but did remember that it was down a street named Privet Drive. Rita supposed a quote from the boy-who-has-never-been-directly-quoted-before would have to do. 

She walked to the edge of the bustle, trying to find the right person to ask. She needed someone with local knowledge, someone who wouldn’t ask too many questions about why she was asking and someone who wouldn’t recognise her as press. Essentially, she needed someone too busy to notice. 

Her sharp eyes spotted someone almost instantly. Tall and willowy, pushing against the masses of gawking people just standing there, shopping bags hung on her arms. Rita stealthily moved forward, assuming a new, random cover she’d made up on the spot. 

“Excuse me? Excuse me?” she shouted, trying to push through the crowd towards her target. 

The woman looked around and spotted her just as she broke free of the crowd. 

“Yes? Can I help you? I’m in a bit of a rush,” she snapped impatiently. 

Rita wheezed slightly, out of breath but internally grinning, “I was just wondering if you could point me in the direction of Privet Drive…”

The woman sighed and flung her arm out, pointing down the street, “Two streets down on the left”. 

“Bloody Muggles,” Rita muttered at her rapidly retreating back. 

She set off in the direction she’d been pointed, humming to herself. Surprisingly quickly she arrived at her destination. Now the real journalism could begin. 

All the houses looked the same, all square and brick with a bright green garden out front and one of those Automobile things on the driveway. Now if she could just find someone to ask… 

As if she had fired off a summoning spell a woman appeared in the garden of a house further down the street, opposite a house with yellow tape across the front door. 

“Excuse me?” she shouted again, jogging slightly. 

The woman, dressed pristinely in a light blue sundress with gardening gloves up to her elbows, looked up at her. She squinted slightly before raising a gloved hand and shielding her face from the midday glare of the summer sun. 

“Yes? Can I help you?” she asked with a smile whilst clambering to her feet. 

“Hopefully. I heard that Harry Potter lived on this street? I was hoping to find him and speak with him.”

The woman’s smile dropped, “Do you mean that delinquent that lived opposite?” 

Rita could have jumped for joy - she’d both found the place he lived and it sounded like there was a story in it too! 

“Sorry? Delinquent? What do you mean?” she questioned, trying to contain her internal smirk. 

“Well, both the boy and his sister were always causing trouble around here. Went to a special school for troubled kids and everything; not to be trusted. But you won’t find them there now. Law enforcement and ambulances came and took all 5 of them, both the Potters and the Dursleys. Why would you like to know? Are you with the press?" the woman asked, an eager smirk crawling up her face. 

Rita couldn’t decide whether to cheer or cry. It was starting to seem like she wasn’t going to get her interview with Harry, but there seemed to be another story here. Maybe she could spin the Dementor attack article and dig a bit more into this supposed Incident and Harry’s... reputation in this neighbourhood. How scandalous would it be if it turned out that the saviour of the wizarding world had refused to be the saviour of Muggles too? 

"Yes, my name is Rita Skeeter, I'm writing a small piece on crime in communities such as these and the effects it has on... young people’s behaviours," she improvised, flashing the older woman a reassuring smile, "for the record, what’s your name?" 

The woman's smile widened at the sign that she might just get her five minutes of fame. Rita couldn't help but think; bait taken. 

\---------- TATATATAT-----------

Sun shone through the window illuminating the floor of the stark hospital room. It’s two occupants were sat in bed reading. Both were skinny, cheekbones obvious, dark circles under their eyes. Aside from this, they looked to be on the mend. This lasted until the bushy-haired owner of the books they were reading dashed into the room, a cotton bag over her shoulder.   
Her eyes darted around the room nervously, finally resting on the other occupants. Her feet dragged on the floor as she made her way over to the chair and overly carefully placed her tote bag down beside it. 

Harry glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was biting her lip, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her jacket. 

“What’s wrong, Hermione?” 

She hesitantly met his eyes and wordlessly reached into her bag and pulled out both a copy of the Daily Prophet and one of the Daily Telegraph. She stood and handed a newspaper to each of them. 

However, before they could so much as look at the front page, a brunette woman in a smart suit bustled into the room. She quickly took in the twins, the books balanced on their knees masking the newspapers from sight, and Hermione who had retreated back into what was now considered ‘her chair’. 

“I take it that you are Harry and Isabelle Potter?” she addressed briskly, looking pointedly at the twins, who nodded. 

“My name is Lola Smith, I’m the social worker in charge of your case. Albus Dumbledore informed me of your predicament,” she smiled at the three dumbfounded expressions staring back at her.

“As I'm a Squib, I am aware of both the magical and Muggle worlds and so am in the perfect position to deal with any questions that may arise on the Muggle side whilst also being in the best position to see that your guardianship issue finds a solution - or at least that’s what the Headmaster believes. He said that you had both been amenable to staying with the Weasley’s at least for the rest of this summer?” 

“Yes,” Harry said curtly.

Miss Smith looked slightly taken aback at the venom in his voice before she seemed to mentally shake herself and continued. 

“The Weasley family has been contacted in the interim and has given their consent. I believe that they are intending to visit you both at some point in the next couple of days and will take you to Hogwarts Healer when you are discharged. I got the impression from Dumbledore that the move would take place sooner rather than later - probably sometime around the 30th or the 31st. Is there anything about that you two need or would like me to see to?” 

The twins glanced at each other, seeming to have a whole conversation with only a look. 

“What’s happening with the trial?” 

She looked down at the bundle of papers she clutched to her body with one arm.

“It looks like it’ll be about Christmas before the trial will happen. Both myself and your lawyer will probably request a few meetings during term time to set out our side and potentially discuss any issues you’re having related to the case.” 

Harry baulked, the last thing he wanted to do was talk even more about it. All he really wanted to do was forget it ever happened and move on with his life. 

“Anything else before I go?” Miss Smith asked.

Harry shook his head. 

“Wait, you’re going already?” Isa asked quietly, confusion written all over her face. 

The social worker nodded, “This was only meant to be a flying visit, introduce myself, make sure that you two were aware of the developments in your case - that sort of thing.” 

“Oh, okay,” Isa said, forehead still creased in a frown as the Social Worker left.

Hermione looked up from the book she’d been studying intently for the whole of the impromptu visit. 

“Did anyone else think that was a bit… brisk?” Isa queried, one eyebrow raised questioningly in Hermione’s direction. 

“A little. She may have just been busy-”

“What?” Harry whispered, eyes darting between the newspaper in front of him and Hermione’s face. “Is this saying what I think it is?” 

Isa attempted to peer over the gap between their beds at the newspaper her brother held but almost immediately slumped back against the bed clutching at her ribs, a pained expression on her face. 

“Yes, it is. Isa has the Prophet, it confirms it,” Hermione said, nodding shakily. 

“Confirms what?” Isa asked slightly sheepishly.

Harry raised an eyebrow and glanced pointedly at the newspaper that was still in her lap. She hesitantly unfurled it, wary of what she was going to find. 

Splashed across the centre of the page in huge letters was the headline ‘Dementor Attacks Muggles’ accompanied by a picture of what could only be the small row of shops near the Dursleys house. 

She hastily skipped to the following article and snorted disgustedly. 

“Honestly?” she asked, her eyes flashing, “12 muggles attacked and left as good as dead, and all they bloody want to know is why they couldn’t get a quote from us?” 

The paper crumpled slightly in her fist as she recounted the offensive content. 

“The Dementor appear to have attacked close by to the listed residence of the Boy-Who-Lived, who hasn’t been seen in the neighbourhood since the local authorities interfered at his home a week ago. The reason for his disappearance and that of his sister, Ingrid, is unknown at this time, but this reporter begs the question; does it have any relation to their lack of support for this community - their community - in such times of tragedy.” 

Harry swallowed harshly. The guilt he’d just about got used to being there intensified. It was because of him that they both had a target on their heads, and it was the logical assumption that that target was the reason for the Dementor attack. He was responsible for the death of 12 people.

“No, Harry, we’re responsible for the death of 12 people,” Isa corrected, her eyes swimming with tears. 

Hermione perched on the edge of Isa’s bed and attempted to look both of them in the eye at the same time. 

“No, neither of you are responsible for any of this,” she urged. 

Both of them looked away, unable to meet her gaze any longer. 

“Listen to me, both of you. You are not responsible for this, Dementors don’t act without instruction. This is on the person who told that Dementor to go there.” 

Neither of them looked at her, both absorbed in their thoughts. She sighed, knowing that what she’d said hadn’t sunk in. She’d have to continue to work at getting that through to them and pray that eventually, she would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, time has actually flown by... I actually wrote this the day after I posted the last chapter (fun fact for you). Another fun fact for you - the Weasley's will be making their debut in the next chapter... And your third fun fact of the chapter is that I am in a love affair with fruit juice xD  
> Same day next week :) Have a nice week
> 
> UPDATED: 24/12/2018 - Thank you C-who-must-not-be-named (its my favourite name so far)
> 
> (For clarity - I have a new beta who is called Cerys :) )


	5. Chapter 4

Isa wasn’t sure about how she felt about the Weasleys visiting. Part of her was still reeling from the news they’d received the day before and didn’t want to see anyone or any blame they might hold to her. She knew both Harry and herself were still very much overwhelmed by the events of the week previous. And what neither of them needed was the pity she was certain would be coming their way the second anyone learnt the true extent of what they’d been through - especially before they’d even begun to process what had happened. The sidelong pitying looks the nurses sometimes sent their way as they came into their room were bad enough; but those sort of looks from someone who knew them, someone who respected them as their own people; they would be unbearable. But at the same time she was also very conscious of the fact that they couldn’t hide forever; especially not from their friends. She just hoped that they had made the right choice in friends. Besides, it had been almost a month since they had last seen them; she missed them. 

“Shouldn’t be long until you’re both off of these,” the nurse who’d been looking after them for the past couple of weeks stated, gesturing towards the bags of liquids that were attached through various tubes and needles to their arms.

She nodded mindlessly, still consumed in exactly what she was feeling about the events on yesterday's news reel. Her breakfast sat, untouched infront of her. 

The nurse gave it a weary glance before shifting her unflinching gaze onto her. 

“Eat. You have no chance of getting discharged from this hospital unless you eat everything you are given. That means you too, Mr Potter.”

Isa glanced at her brother, sure enough, he was staring off into the distance. 

“Mr Potter?” 

His head snapped round. 

A flash of deep, gnawing guilt shot through Isa’s head. She gasped, trying to breathe through what felt like a hot poker being shoved through the centre of her brain. 

The nurse shot a glance in her direction before continuing to walk over to Harry who was staring at the wall again. 

Isa shook her head, trying to clear the pain the guilt had seemingly brought with it. She succeeded and as such she turned her sights to wondering why the hell that guilt had been different to the guilt that she was feeling over the whole Dementor thing and why it had hurt so much. She wasn’t even sure what the guilt was over. It was like the flash of emotion was unrelated to any cause. It was just the emotion. A really deep, strong to the point it was painful, guilt. Eh, she was probably going mad. And judging on the last couple of weeks, she thought she’d have every right to. 

Half-heartedly she ate the goop that had been placed in front of her, stomach churning with both nerves and apprehension. She knew that the Weasleys were due at any minute and had been sure she’d seen their particular brand of red through the hallway window just a second ago. But when nobody had opened the door, she continued to trudge through breakfast. 

Herself and Harry hadn’t really resolved their argument over how they should respond to Dumbledore, but Isa wasn’t inclined to push the matter - once Harry had an idea in his mind there was no getting rid of it until he’d dealt with it. She still felt that he shouldn’t be rude about it, but she did have to admit that Dumbledore kind of deserved a bit of rudeness. Not to mention, they had enough on their plate as it was and definitely didn’t need to add falling out with each other to the list. 

She pushed her breakfast bowl away. It wasn’t completely empty but she felt like she would hurl if she ate anymore. Her appetite had been improving, and she still looked slightly skeletal but it was improving; she thought, smiling. 

What hadn’t been massively improving though were the injuries to her ribs. According to the doctors, the damage to the surrounding tissue had created lots of swelling which was impacting on her breathing, and on her ribs ability to heal. Disappointingly, they wouldn’t be able to release herself or Harry until that swelling had gone down somewhat. Meanwhile, her torso was stiff both with bandages and with injuries she couldn’t feel because of the pain meds. Which, whilst frustrating, she was incredibly grateful for. 

On the other hand, Harry had been healing nicely. His injuries, whilst more extensive, were complicated less by where they were. The huge cast on his lower leg an example of that, whilst chunky, there were less complications because there were no open wounds in that area to contend with. She was slightly jealous that he would probably heal a bit quicker than she would, but also grateful that he wouldn’t be in much pain at any point. 

The nurse, having succeeded in drawing a blank faced Harry back down to earth and somehow managed to get him to eat, balancing the trays precariously she walked over to the door. It swung open before she could get there, the man Isa knew had been in charge of fixing them stood there, looking slightly confused. 

“After you,” he muttered.

The nurse bustled though, a ‘thank you’ thrown hastily over her shoulder. The man walked into the room, following right behind him were the Weasleys. Mrs Weasley was in front, her eyes warily tracking every movement, her hand in her pocket. Isa was 99.9% sure that it was on her wand. Her eyes eventually focused on them and widened. Isa fought back a shudder, loathing the look of pity she was convinced was going to follow. 

Unable to watch it appear, she watched Ginny and Ron take them in. Their faces, subtly different in a similar way to herself and Harry, were more curious and relieved then pitying. Relief flooded her mind. They had chosen the right friends. Everything would be okay. 

She glanced across at Harry, who had a small smile on his face. Yes, everything would be okay. 

\------

The Muggle Healer had said they would look different to what they used to. He hadn’t been wrong - they were bonier, more fragile looking and paler than before. But he hadn’t been completely right either - they were still the same. Harry still used that small smile when he was happy about something, Isa still picked at the hem of her clothes when nervous. The differences were a bit shocking on first impact; but then Ginny had realised that they were safe. That, yes, the lack of replies was saying that something had happened, but now they were on the way to being okay. 

The day Dumbledore had shown up with the news that the Potter’s were in trouble but were being looked after, had been a day of guesses as to what had happened, moulded from the limited details Dumbledore had given them. Fear and apprehension following this announcement had moulded into annoyance and anger when Mrs Weasley had informed them that they would have to wait another day before visiting. It had taken everything she had to be patient. The only thing that had really helped, had been the knowledge that Mrs Weasley was just as eager and impatient to go and see them. Ginny knew her Mum worried just as much about the Potters as she did about her own brood. And that she had been unable to protect them - despite it not being her place to protect them - had been eating away at her. So when the Muggle Healer had left the room, and Mrs Weasley became an overprotective mother hen, Ginny didn’t share a knowing look and eye roll with her brother as she usually would have done; she just smiled. 

Mrs Weasley conjured three chairs facing the beds and sat down, slightly flustered. Silence filled the room. And so, with a smile, Ginny broke it with news she was confident would start up a conversation. 

“Did you hear about the Harpies, Isa? They won the league!” 

A smile spread across Isa’s face, genuine and bright, “Yes! That’ll show the Cannon’s…” 

“Oy! They were practically handed that semi though, Isa - they had less of a challenge to actually reaching the finals.” 

“Still played better than the Cannons in the final, Ron. They play well when it counts,” Ginny chimed in.

“I’m still not convinced that the foul against the Magpies stands… the ref was completely bias-” Harry said, getting more confident with every passing second. 

Ginny sighed with relief, Harry had always been more quiet and more willing to take all of the blame. She had feared that he would be irretrievably blaming himself for what had happened at the Privet Drive with the Dementors, but despite his initial quietness, he seemed willing to be drawn out of his shell. Maybe there was hope for him after all. 

“Bias?! Bias? Harry, what the hell are you talking about, that ref was completely justified in calling that foul… Just because they lost that game as a result and then didn’t make the semi’s because of it doesn’t mean it’s a foul,” Ginny cried out.

“Yes it is,” 

“No it isn’t,” 

Harry stuck his tongue out at her. 

“Annnyway, what happened in the final? Who scored what? What plays did they use?..”

And they were off, intricately describing the various plays, fouls and injuries that had occured in the the last cup final. Ginny internally cheered. It was always going to be awkward, knowing what to say after something like this had happened. The usual ‘how are you doing?’ would just be insensitive and awkward. But finding something they all had common ground over was a good start. 

“You two will never believe it though! You know the World Cup is in England this summer?..” upon their identical nods, Ron continued, ”Dad got everyone tickets! We’re all going! Us Weasleys, you two and Hermione. It’s going to be so much fun. And we’ll be able to play Quidditch every day…” 

As Ron continued, Isa’s face dropped. Ginny knew why; she wasn’t particularly good at flying. She enjoyed it, but needed a lot of practice before she would be anywhere near as good as the rest of them.

She lent over so she was slightly closer to Isa, and whispered in her ear, “We’ll work at it okay? You’re staying with us for the rest of the summer, so don’t worry about it. We’ll work at it till you get it.”

Isa smiled back, her shoulders losing some tension. 

“It’s excellent that you have a plan, Ron, but these two will both need plenty of rest,” Mrs Weasley added, “Not to mention that you all have homework that you need to do before September. How far are you through it, dears?”

Harry glanced at Isa, then grimaced slightly before quietly muttering, “We have some done but not loads.”

“Not to worry, I’ll help if you like,” Hermione stated, smiling as she closed the door behind her and walked over to her usual chair. 

“Thanks, Hermione. We do have a slight problem though. We don’t have any of our stuff, it’s all at the… Dursleys,” Isa said quietly. 

Mrs Weasley smiled, Ginny guessed it was because she could actually do something to help.

“The Healer said that you’d be discharged in the next couple of days. I’ll confund him into releasing you both to me and we’ll go to Hogwarts so that Poppy can fix your injuries and whatever these Muggles have done. The Healer was sure that would probably be on your birthdays so I’ll go and get your stuff later today after I’ve dropped these two back home. Is everything in your trunks?” 

Harry nodded, “Thank you, Mrs Weasley. Everything but our wands and a few textbooks, they’re in the hydrangea bush beside the front door,” 

Mrs Weasley smiled reassuringly, “Of course, dear.” 

\-----

Some days Rita loved her Animagus form. Today was not one of them. She was clinging to the wall of the local Muggle Auror station, being attacked by the wind machine on the ceiling, attempting to flesh out the very helpful Mrs Number 5’s interview. Her editor, whilst eager for a story on ‘the REAL boy-who-lived’, had wanted every fact triple checked, with sources - much to her displeasure. However, she begrudgingly had to admit that he may have a point. After all, the Potters were the apple in most of the wizarding worlds eye. If there was even a tiny part of the unwanted article that was hearsay, the whole article would be labeled as false - especially with the political clout the name ‘Potter’ had in some circles. 

She was waiting for the Muggles to leave the room so she could look through that juicy looking file people kept adding to. 

Finally, when darkness had long since fallen outside, the room cleared and the lights and wind machine on the ceiling mercifully switched off. Rita counted to 100 before flying down off the wall and landing on the threadbare carpet. There she transformed and made sure that she was completely alone with a quick charm. Receiving confirmation of that, she quickly unlocked the draw she’d seen the file being placed in earlier and placed said file on the desk. 

A quick flick through revealed that Mrs Number 5 had been telling the truth about the Dursley’s prompt departure from their home. What Mrs Number 5 hadn’t included had been the reason behind the departure. Rita sat down. Very little shocked her nowadays - but this took the biscuit. The public deserved to know everything major about their public figures. After all how were they to know whether to trust them or not? Would they abuse their power? How did the event change them as people? How do they respond to certain events? And the big one. Are they stable?   
Unfortunately the file contained no pictures so she didn’t have the ultimate proof but that which was in the file was concrete enough that she could construct a fairly comprehensive story from it. 

So with a wave of her wand and a muttered “Gemino,” she copied the file and replaced everything the way she’d found it. Then, with her newly acquired file in bag, she transformed and flew out of the nearest window, internally musing the situation. 

The scope of the story meant that her editor was right, it was going to need time and multiple sources to back it up. In any case, the actual story seemed more juicy than anything she could make up. But ultimately, when she had squeezed every last drop of tanticilious drama from the story - she would get to release it to the public.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) Have a nice week!
> 
>  
> 
> UPDATE: 24/12/2018 - Betafied - thanks to Cezzaroni the Fantabulous...


	6. Chapter 5

Harry awoke with a tentative positivity colouring his thoughts. There were two reasons for this. Firstly, the Doctors had decided that the swelling around Isa’s ribs to have reduced to the extent that there was no longer pressure on her lungs - and as such, they were going to be released back into the world as soon as the doctor had completed his rounds. And secondly, he was turning 14 today. Previously birthdays hadn’t really been a major cause for celebration, but that a week ago he’d been convinced that neither of them was going to make it to their 14th birthday meant that this was a more tangible cause for celebration. Despite this, it had been decided that the celebration would occur when they were well enough to actually enjoy it. 

He grinned. After everything they had been through recently, life was starting to look up. Madam Pomfrey was going to do what she could to fix them (and then he would be free of this blasted cast on his foot and the itchiness that came with it). They would stay with the Weasleys for the foreseeable future and be free to play Quidditch, do their homework and just be normal teenagers for a change. And then there was the Quidditch World Cup. Excitement started building in his chest (somewhat hindering his consumption of porridge) - this was going to be fun. 

“Harry?” Isa asked, her forehead creased, “How do you think we’ll be getting to Hogwarts?” 

Harry paused, considering the question, “Apparation, maybe? Or Portkey? Why?” 

She shook her head and turned back to breakfast. 

Harry stared at her for a moment before finishing off his breakfast. She had been very quiet since they have arrived at the hospital - only really talking when absolutely necessary (with the exception of the Weasleys visit three days ago). Then she had been the enthusiastic and friendly girl she’d been before. 

He smiled at the thought. It would be nice to just be able to be themselves without the threat of having to go back to the Dursleys every summer. 

Time, he mused, she needed time - hell, they both did. But hopefully, eventually, they’d both get there. 

A voice came from the hallway outside the room. 

“-give me a shout when you have the MRI results and I’ll come and have a look, okay?” 

The Doctor who had brought the Weasleys in a few days earlier entered the room, white coat flapping behind him. He was a young man, early thirties at the oldest. His pen flew down Harry’s chart before stopping at the bottom and signing with a flourish. 

He placed the chart down at the end of the bed before moving over to Isa’s chart and repeated the process. 

When he finished he pulled the chair Hermione usually used into the space between their beds and handed them both sheet of paper. 

“As you know,” he said, sitting down on the chair, “you are being discharged today, what you have in front of you is a list of things you need to do to remain on the road to recovery. When your social worker gets here I’ll give her the prescriptions for your meds and the chemist downstairs should be able to both fill them and provide you with instructions as to when to take them and how many to take. You’ll need to come back in a few weeks time for a checkup to make sure that everything is healing fine, but beyond that -” 

He stopped talking abruptly, his face suddenly confused. He got to his feet, wavering slightly, and walked out of the door in a daze. 

Adrenaline surged through Harry’s body, his hands clenching around the sheets.

Mrs Weasley came into his line of sight, surreptitiously tucking what Harry assumed to be her wand into her cardigan pocket. 

He relaxed his hands. 

“Are you two ready?” she asked briskly, her face concerned and her shoulders tensed. 

Mr Weasley (who Harry had only just noticed was standing behind her) placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. 

“Harry, Isa,” he added, nodding brightly to them each in turn, “it’s nice to see you although I wish it was under better circumstances. Anyway, everything is ready. Dumbledore has acquired some Portkeys that will take us to the Hogwarts Infirmary.” 

Harry thought briefly before voicing his concern over the stir their abrupt disappearance would create.

“All potential issues in terms of your extraction have been worked out - including the security cam…. canmerars,” he confirmed, a satisfied yet slightly confused look upon his face, “Honestly though, the things Muggles create. Did you know-”

“Arthur,” Mrs Weasley warned, her eyes flicking down to the watch upon her wrist. 

“Right, sorry dear,” he said, sheepishly. 

From his pocket, he withdrew two individually wrapped Sherbet Lemons, one of which he handed to his wife. 

“It’ll be easier if you’re standing, especially when it comes to landing. Molly and I will hold onto you to make sure you’re okay, and Madam Pomfrey will be there at the other end to deal with any mishaps.” 

“Mishaps...?” Isa asked, her face akin to a sheet. 

Harry couldn’t help but agree with her. Mishaps weren’t something he had thought would happen today. And most definitely weren’t something he wanted to happen today. Or any day for that matter. 

“Don’t worry about it, dear. Nothing will go wrong, it’s just for if the landing is off slightly and we fall over.” 

Harry didn’t feel particularly reassured but nodded anyway and inched towards the edge of the bed. The cast encasing his lower leg and foot was heavy, clumsy and generally made everything difficult; but Mr Weasley’s help he managed it. He leaned heavily on him, trying to keep as much weight as possible off of his plastered foot.   
He started to wonder - how would he manage to ‘land’ after the Portkey without putting weight on his foot. It sounded like quite a precarious process that could easily result in a loss of balance for a completely able person. However, add in an appendage that hurt whenever weight was applied (despite the heavy pain meds he was on) and you got a recipe for some serious hurt. 

Harry glanced across at Isa, her eyes were wide and pain flickered periodically across her face. 

Before he could say anything something behind his navel moved up and suddenly he was spinning. 

\-------

On the ground floor, three stories below where the Potter’s had just disappeared from, a blonde witch in a brightly coloured Muggle clothing walked through the sliding doors into the hospital. Peeking out of her crocodile skin handbag was a thick file. 

She walked over to the man sat at the reception desk and inquired about where she could find the Potters. Following his instructions, she then clambered into the lift and mused about her streak of good luck in finding the Potters before they returned to their usual sheltered position of behind Dumbledore’s influence. 

“-didn’t even see them leave. He signed off on it though and they were technically okay to leave; just would’ve thought we’d have seen them on the way out,” 

The sound of gossip reached her finely honed radar the second she stepped out of the lift. 

She smirked; this was going to be fun. 

And yet; five minutes later, the smirk had disappeared, replaced by a heavy frown and the weight of disappointment. 

The Potters were nowhere to be found. 

To make matters worse, when questioned, the nurses admitted to treating two patients named Potter, but whenever she tried to prise any details from them that would confirm that they were the same Potter’s that she knew, their eyes glazed over. 

Bloody Dumbledore. 

Rita resisted the urge to hurl hexes at everyone in sight. 

Her editor had made it beyond clear that the evidence needed to be concrete. And as none of the nurses could confirm what the two looked like, she was back at square one. 

It was only as she navigated the sliding doors at the entrance to the hospital, that she realised that she wasn’t back at square one - she still had a story. She just needed enough evidence to prove that the story was real. Sometimes that took time. 

She’d just have to wait for someone to slip up and that evidence to become available. 

\------

Madam Pomfrey sighed, “Well, I have to admit that the Muggles didn’t do a bad job, even if some of their methods are somewhat barbaric. I would have been able to do more had you come to me as soon as you could instead of staying in the Muggle hospital for a week.”

“What about the scarring?” 

“I’m afraid, beyond the reductions this potion will create and time, there’s not a lot I can do. The depth of the cuts, the amount of time before magical healing and the quality of the surrounding skin inhibits the techniques.” 

Isa looked down at the sheets she was sat on, he could almost feel the uneasy turmoil that raged beneath her curls. 

Harry flexed his foot, the process of having a bone mended was a lot less painful than regrowing one - the means of doing so being a spell that was over pretty much instantly as opposed to the potion which was uncomfortable and long-lasting. However the spell did have one disadvantage, it didn’t mend the tissue damage that came with the broken bone. Which meant that in cases such as broken ribs, alongside the spell, a potion enhancing tissue regeneration had to be taken. In more minor cases where the break wasn’t bad, such as his foot, no potion was necessary but some stiffness would occur. 

Potions - they had to take a fair number of them. One for nutrition with every meal, one for tissue regeneration around their ribs, one for minor pain relief (to be taken twice a day), one for major pain relief (to be taken when needed) and one to be rubbed into areas with a high percentage of scar tissue. 

He couldn’t wait to get out of the Hospital Wing and arrive at the Burrow. At this stage, he just wanted to be back to normal. To play Quidditch and fly whenever he wanted to. To not be constantly resigned to the fact that he was terrified. For fear not to be a fact of life. To actually enjoy his life. To be able to disagree with his sister and for them not to have to shelf the conversation for a later date because they had to show a united front at all times. He wanted to be able to hope and dream and to be able to live those dreams out without a single drop of fear that he was going to be punished for it. But above all, he just wanted to be normal. 

“Mr Potter?” Madam Pomfrey said, drawing him out of his thoughts. 

“Yes?” 

“It’s time for you to go,” 

Harry internally sighed, he really didn’t like Portkeys. 

However, instead of holding out a random item for him to take that would yank him into Portkey-oblivion, she held out a bag of Floo Powder. 

Despite his previous bad experience with fire-travel, he’d take standing still in a fireplace over hurtling through space with a guaranteed crash landing on any day of the week. 

He was tense as he threw the handful of the glittering powder into the flames. His sister had gone about a minute before, her arms wrapped around herself both to ensure her elbows didn’t impact upon the edges of the fireplace and, Harry imagined, to protect still tender ribs. He copied her technique; stepping into the now green flames, arms clenched around his midriff. 

“The Burrow!” 

The second he stepped/fell out of the fireplace, Ron’s sure hand was there to catch him. 

“Thanks, mate,” 

Ron just smiled.

“Mum says dinner's almost ready,” Ginny said, poking her head around the door, “Isa’s already in the kitchen,” 

Harry nodded.

The kitchen was just as he remembered it. A huge table was crammed into the centre of the room, laid for nine. The work surfaces that lined some of the walls were covered in pots, pans and recipe books. 

It felt like home. 

He sat down at the table just as the breadboard landed on its polished wood. 

“Harry, Isa, would you like some pumpkin juice?” Mrs Weasley asked, two vials full of dark blue liquid positioned against the side of the jug so that only the two of them could see them. 

Harry nodded as Isa murmured an affirmative. 

Everyone settled into their meals and various conversations sprung up along the table. 

“-noise coming from your room-” 

“-Magpies are better-” 

“-idiot, of course they’re not- 

“-Canons are the-” 

“Do you want to go flying tomorrow, Harry?” Ginny asked, cutting through the babble, her eyes focused intently on his face. 

“Sure!” he said but could see Mrs Weasley getting ready to apologetically interrupt and quickly amended, “I don’t know if I’d be up to fully fledged Quidditch at the moment but maybe we could just fly?” 

“Sounds good,” she said with a smile, “we could start working on Isa’s flying, shouldn’t be too strenuous.” 

Harry looked over at his sister, she was engrossed in a conversation between Mr Weasley and Percy. 

“Isa?” he called over the babble, “Do you want to go flying tomorrow?” 

A smile lit up her face. 

“Of course I do, Harry!” she said, beaming widely, "Got to start my dream to dominate the Quidditch Pitch at some point!"

Her smile dimmed slightly, “We should probably make a start on homework as well.” 

Harry teasingly groaned, knowing that in reality, he was grateful to be in a position to do his homework whenever he liked. 

“Mrs Weasley, did you manage to find our wands and books?” 

“I did, Isa dear, your things are in Ginny’s room, Harry’s are in Ron’s,” she said with a shaky smile. 

“Thank you, Mrs Weasley” 

“It’s Molly, dear,”

“Thank you, Mrs Weasley,” Harry repeated with a smile.

She smiled and shook her head.

Tiredness washed over him, it had been a long day. He yawned, setting off a chain reaction down the table. 

“All right, you lot, off to bed,” Mrs Weasley said, standing up and carrying the empty soup saucepan off to the sink. 

Harry glanced down at his bowl, to his surprise it was empty, he’d finished it without realising. He relaxed slightly, his appetite was coming back, he was getting better.

\-----

He was in Ron’s room, its usual bright orange muted by the late hour. 

The hair stood up on the back of his neck. Something wasn’t right. He strained his senses, trying to hear, see, smell feel, taste anything which might tell him what was wrong. 

A creak sounded from the stairs. 

Terror flooded his body. 

Breathing deeply to try and calm his heart rate, he pushed the covers back and sat up. 

The room was akin to the photographs in the newspaper - the colour drained from it. Despite this, Harry couldn’t pinpoint anything that was out of place. 

Another creak came from the direction of the stairs. 

The door swung open, a huge dark mass standing silhouetted in the doorway. 

Harry shrunk back into the mattress and froze, immobilised by fear. 

The mass moved closer, the window revealing more and more features. 

Dread pooled in the bottom of Harry’s stomach. 

The light shone directly on the figures face. 

It was Vernon. And a manic grin was spreading across his face. 

His arm shot out from where he’d been holding it behind his back. Clutched in his thick fist was Isa. Harry could already see a dark bruise beginning to form around where he had her in his grip. She was clearly unconscious, a dark substance Harry assumed to be blood on her temple. 

He dropped her onto Harry’s bed, simultaneously pulling off his belt. 

Harry tried to move, wriggling desperately against the handcuffs that had appeared around his wrists.

Tears filling his eyes at the hopeless situation, he turned his head, unable to watch. That did nothing for the noise that filled the room. 

It was only as he opened his eyes slightly and got a glimpse of Ron’s mounded bed sheets that he remembered that he wasn’t alone. 

“HELP!” he screamed. 

 

Harry sat up, sweat pouring down his face, and his chest heaved up and down. 

He could only see Ron. Vernon and Isa were nowhere in sight. The redhead was perched on the edge of his bed his eyes narrowed and brow furrowed as he surveyed Harry.

“Are you alright, mate? Do you want me to go and get Isa? Or Mum?” 

Harry, still trying to catch his breath after what he’d surmised was probably a nightmare, waved his hand dismissively.

"No thanks, mate." 

He flopped back onto the bed, the sheets uncomfortably damp. Every ounce of sleep had been removed from his brain. The sound of leather on skin still echoed through his brain. 

No, he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep tonight. 

\----

The door of Ginny’s room creaked as it opened, alerting the half of the room that was awake. 

She could just make out a figure with what looked like bushy hair. But Hermione wasn’t here so she guessed it must be Harry. 

Harry pulled the door too and creaked his way downstairs. 

She sat up, shivering slightly. 

That dream had been scary and yet weird at the same time. She had never dreamed from Harry’s perspective before. And if you combined that with the fact that she was sometimes sure that she was feeling what Harry was feeling, then maybe that nightmare was Harry’s and she was just piggybacking on it. 

She sighed. This was too confusing. Not the nightmare, no, having had her fair share of them previously they didn’t even border on confusing. What was confusing was the fact that she was now forced to watch Harry’s nightmares alongside him and could potentially feel what he was feeling (she still wasn’t particularly convinced on that one) when they weren’t asleep. Maybe they could try and figure it out tonight?

It was as she got to the bottom of the stairs, wand in hand, and saw her brother with his face on his knees that she ditched that plan for the night. 

Her brother needed a hug and she would be damned if she wasn’t going to give him one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I know this has taken a while, I had real life stuff getting in the way (I might be switching uni's... if you're interested... idk if anyone actually reads these). 
> 
> I'm looking for a beta for this story if anyone's interested? Just gonna throw the option out there for you. 
> 
> If you spot any mistakes (even if you don't want to beta), please don't hesitate to let me know so I can change them (I promise I won't be an arse). :) 
> 
> Have a good week! :)
> 
> P.S THIS CHAPTER ACTUALLY MADE 3K WORDS!!! :)


	7. Chapter 6

TATATATAT----- 2nd August 1994 -----TATATATAT

“This meeting shall now convene.” 

The figure speaking gestured to the person sat next to them at the table, “How did the first stage in the Potter plan go?”

“As was determined in the last meeting of this body, a curse was placed upon the Muggle, Vernon Dursley, to increase aggression and ensure a confrontation between himself and the Half-blood Blood-traitors. This plan came to fruition shortly after our last meeting. As predicted, the Potter scum didn’t present even the hint of a fight. Unfortunately, the Mudblood -Granger- interfered, and the Muggle Authorities turned up. 

I was unable to locate them in the following weeks - they were not checked into St Mungos - so I assume that they were treated by the Muggle filth. Intelligence now suggests that they are with the Blood Traitors and will remain out of the public eye for the foreseeable future. Due to this, I would suggest that the stratagem would have a more significant impact if it were continued at a later date when they are not surrounded by friends.” 

“Very well, all in favour of delaying the final stage of the Potter plan for a later date,” the central figure asked. 

Ayes and Na’s rang throughout the room. Upon announcing the result of the vote his glance turning to the next cloaked figure.

“What about you? This is your first gathering. A summons was sent out for your presence upon acquisition of the knowledge of your opinions and subsequent actions. The existing members,” the figure gestured to themselves and the dozen or so people assembled within the room, “determined yourself suitable to aid in our quest to cleanse the Wizarding World of the Muggle filth which pollutes and dilutes it. Remind us of these actions.” 

The addressed figure sat up a bit straighter before answering. 

“I learnt of the Potter’s incompetence through a friend in the Magical Education Liaison Office. I was enraged that those who claim to be a National Icon would allow themselves to be overpowered by a single Muggle. As punishment for their inaction, I used my connections to instruct a Dementor to attack the Potters hometown. Death of a dozen muggles - I believe the end count was 14 - on the shoulders of the Potters. It seemed like the perfect punishment.” 

The central figured nodded and smirked beneath his cape. 

“Very good! We will have to include you in future meetings; like-minded people such as yourself are difficult to locate - actions speak louder than words, and not many people dare to act on such a scale. On that note, what of the attempts to find the Dark Lord?” 

A group of four people appeared to converse briefly before one sat up a little bit straighter and addressed the room. 

“We have reason to believe that the Dark Lord is currently in an Albanian forest. However magical movement in that area is greatly monitored so when sending a search party, it would be far more prudent to approach on foot.” 

The central man nodded, “Very well, volunteers for this mission should stay behind after this meeting to ascertain a date which will grant the least amount of suspicion. It is time we got our Master back to lead us on this path of righteousness. On that topic, what about you?” he addressed the person lurking at the back of the room, “I believe you said you had information on the double-crosser?” 

“I have information concerning an incident at Hogwarts at the end of June, just before the students went home. Black made an appearance, that is certain, accounts vary from that point. Potter, Weasley and the Mudblood are all insistent that Pettigrew made an appearance, The Ministry is insisting that Black bewitched them into thinking this. Surmising that Pettigrew was the spy and behind the explosion that sent Black to Azkaban, Potter and his merry gang are telling the truth, and the Traitor did show up.” 

A feral smile spread across the original speakers face. 

“Hmm, it might be worth activating Project Black. All for activating Project Black say aye?”

“Aye” rang around the room, not a single person opposing the plan. 

“Majority rules, Project Black, will be activated. Put out the word to the lessers, both in what they are to do for Project Black and the 10,000 Galleons to whoever can bring me the betrayer’s head.” 

The meeting continued - the Darkness finally pushing back against the Light that had won the battle over a decade earlier. 

A rat with one toe missing scurried out of the room. It had heard all it needed to - the Death Eaters were reforming without their master and they were out for blood. To be specific; his blood. Britain wasn’t safe anymore for someone of his circumstance, not with the half of the wizarding world with a dark disposition after him. To survive this, he would need to find a person who could protect him from the Death Eaters. His whiskers twitched with a mixture of terror and determination. He knew just the person. 

 

TATATATAT------------ 12th August 1994---------- TATATATAT

 

The wind caressed her face as she tried desperately to stay on the broom. 

“You’re meant to sit on it, Isa, not hang upside down off of it,” Harry laughed as he shot past her. 

Git. She was trying, she really was. She was just incapable of staying upright when sitting on the broom. Maybe she’d get better at it. After all, she’d been just as hopeless at Potions when she’d first started Hogwarts, but after a few weeks of intense study and learning the concepts behind the actual brewing, she had improved tenfold and had actually found herself really enjoying the inevitability of the process. Hopefully the same would happen with flying. 

Then again, she’d started 3rd year absolutely horrific at Care of Magical Creatures and to this day she was still hopeless at it. 

Frustrated at her lack of progress, she directed the broom towards the ground and wobbly descended. Perhaps she could discern something about how you actually stayed on the broom by attempting something she’d been debating the ethics of doing for the past couple of days.

The feelings she had been getting whenever Harry had been feeling a particularly strong emotion had been getting more frequent and lasting for increasing periods - showing up even when his emotions weren't that strong. She knew that at some point they were going to have to talk about this. Isa was dreading it. She knew from the flashes of emotion that he was still feeling intense guilt about the whole Dursley thing and likely wouldn’t respond well to the knowledge that she was privy to those feelings. 

 

The one good thing about the whole ordeal was the ability to feel the good emotions as well as the bad. In particular, the intense joy Harry felt whenever flying. If she focused, she could almost feel the wood under her fingertips, the way he used the air currents and the position of his feet to stay upright. 

A guilty feeling crept through her thoughts. She shouldn’t be doing this without permission. This was Harry’s mind. She was thinking about invading it without his consent. That was wrong. 

She withdrew from her thoughts just in time to impact the earth. 

“Ouch,” she said, rolling onto her back with a groan. 

Whilst the potions and lotions had helped somewhat, the bruises were now a medium purple rather than a black, and many of the minor injuries had disappeared completely, some of the more severe ones still remained. Such as her ribs. Most of the time she didn’t notice them at all, but on bad days or if she had hit them with something then they flared up. 

“Isa!” Ginny shouted, landing nearby, dropping her broom and running over, “Are you okay?” 

Isa dropped her head back onto the sunbaked earth. 

“Yeah, I just need to remember to brake. Hitting the ground equals ouch.” 

Both Harry and Ron dropped to the ground beside her and slid off their brooms. 

Harry grasped her arm and pulled her to her feet. 

She winced slightly and wobbled before placing her hand on his shoulder to steady herself. 

“Can we take a break from the flying for now?” Isa asked tentatively, rubbing a small graze on her arm. 

Ginny nodded and picked up the brooms. 

The four of them started walking in the direction of the pond. In the three days that the Potters had been here, the pond had become their spot. Hidden from the house but still easy to get to. It was perfect for times when they just wanted to talk. 

They sat at the water’s edge, the sloping earth and the roots of a nearby tree providing natural seats. 

The silence was broken only by the buzz of a few bees. 

Isa basked happily in the sun, safe in the knowledge that it couldn’t harm her thanks to the sunblock charm Mrs Weasley had cast on the four of them earlier that day. 

“How many days is it until Hermione gets here, Ron?” Ginny asked a teasing grin spread wide across her face. 

Ron shrugged, either not picking up on the hint or not caring enough to dignify it with a response.

“I don’t know, I was meant to hear back from her today, but I haven’t had an owl yet. Maybe it went to the house instead. She said beginning to mid-August, so probably around your birthday and the Quidditch Cup.” 

Isa smiled at the thought of their friend. It would be nice to see Hermione again, Isa had grown used to their almost daily correspondence when they had been in the Hospital and was starting to seriously miss the witch. Additionally, having Hermione around would undoubtedly help in her plight to get the boys to do their homework to a good standard. However, underneath the happiness at having everyone she loved in one place, the knot of anxiety remained from the potential privacy invasion earlier. 

“I think we should speak to Dumbledore about Padfoot,” Harry suggested, “it’s been 2 weeks since we last heard from him and in his last letter he said that he’d try and increase the amount of contact with us - usually he writes every week and a half.” 

“Maybe we could sneak through the Floo when Mum’s not looking?” 

“That would never work, Ron, she’d find out and then we’d be banned from everything nice for the rest of the summer,” Ginny said scornfully. 

“Not if it was Harry, or Isa. Mum would never shout at guests.” 

Isa looked at Harry uncomfortably. She knew neither of them would want to go through with the plan purely because it would abuse the trust and kindness the Weasley’s were showing them. 

“Maybe we should just explain to her what’s going on? And why we need to talk to the Professor? Or we could write to him?” Isa suggested.

Ron shook his head, “Mum wouldn’t believe just us saying he was innocent, we’d need Dumbledore to tell her.” 

“After dinner, we’ll just write him a letter with everything written in code so the Ministry can’t intercept it. If he doesn’t understand it, then he might at least come and see what it was we were trying to say?”

Thankfully there was collective nodding at this. 

Ginny glanced down at her watch and got to her feet, “It’s almost 6, dinner will be ready soon, and Mum will want us to lay the table first so we should probably head in.” 

Mrs Weasley appeared at the door just as they were approaching. 

“I was just about to come and get you. Ginny dear, if you could put the stew on the table and then lay it - your fathers not going to be back in time so it’ll be eight places. Oh - Ron would you be a dear and fetch the twins? I have called them, but they must not have heard. Isa, Harry, you could help Ginny with the table if you like?” 

The room was buzzing with activity as Ron dashed off up the stairs to fetch his brothers. On the stove, a pan of mashed potatoes was mashing itself. The table, already laden with salad and a breadboard complete with knife and bread, was soon added to by the stew which landed with a great thump in the space already cleared for it. The potatoes soon followed and were abruptly joined by Ginny’s rapid distribution of plates. 

Harry grabbed the pile of knives, Isa the forks and spoons and they joined Ginny in completing the table set up. 

The thundering footsteps descending the stairs announced the twins arrival. Percy arrived soon after, still dressed in his Ministry robes.

The first few minutes of the meal were taken up with eating (and downing potions) - not a syllable was uttered. It was during that time that Isa contemplated the best way to phrase the letter. Short and sweet was probably best - if he wanted more of their reasoning then he could come and see them. 

It really was quite concerning how Sirius had just dropped off the radar. She knew the Ministry hadn’t captured him because it would be all over the news if that were the case. However, that wasn’t much comfort when she considered the fact that Voldemort’s wraith was still out there. The world was a plenty scary place for anyone, even when not running from the government. 

A conversation had started up again while she had been engrossed in her thoughts. 

“Mum, did any post come today?” Ron asked hopefully.

“Yes dear, your Hogwarts letters all arrived today, and there’s also a letter addressed to the four of you,” Mrs Weasley stated, indicating she meant Ron, Ginny, Isa and Harry. 

Ron smiled widely at this. 

Isa glanced at Ginny, the smile on her face indicating that she too was picking up on the signals that her brother was broadcasting. Thankfully the Weasley twins were so absorbed in their discussion with Harry over who was going to win the Quidditch World Cup (Harry’s money was on Ireland because of their performance against Peru - the twins’ on Ireland to win but Bulgaria to get the snitch) that they hadn’t noticed caught the exchange. Usually, she was all for a bit of light teasing, but in this instance, she knew that with Ron just discovering these feelings, they were likely fragile and most certainly wouldn’t stand up to the twins usual... exuberance. Her friends' future happiness was much more important than a quick laugh. 

“So Percy, what’s your new job at the Ministry like?” Isa asked, ignoring the over-exaggerated bored expressions that appeared on the younger two Weasleys faces at her question. 

“Oh, it’s fascinating, Isabelle, thank you for asking. Mr Crouch is having such a hard time at the moment, what with the Quidditch World Cup and the - event - that’s taking place at Hogwarts this year. He has so much to do and not nearly enough help to get it all done. The Department of Magical Games and Sports aren’t pulling their weight at all. I’ve had to take on far more than my share of work - we’re trying to introduce a standard thickness for cauldrons, you know. To prevent cheaply made, and frankly dangerously thin cauldrons from flooding the market as they currently are threatening to do. I said I’d take the project - despite it only being my 3rd week on the job. As I told Mr Crouch, just because you’re new doesn’t mean you can’t pull your weight. I mean if you want to be a valued employee then the first thing you need to be able to do is -” 

“Hey, Isa, this will be the first time you’ll meet Bill and Charlie isn’t it?” Ron enquired loudly, interrupting the conversation. 

Isa nodded as Percy berated his younger brother for being rude. 

“You’ll like them, they’re a laugh. Bill’s a Curse Breaker, he finds treasure for Gringotts. Charlie works with Dragons - he was an amazing Seeker when he was at Hogwarts. I can’t wait for you to meet them, I’ve told them quite a bit about you guys.” Ginny said with a blush. 

Isa was conflicted. Half of her was flattered that Ginny liked them enough to write to Egypt about her, but the other half of her was terrified that they wouldn’t want her. Family meant a huge deal to the Weasley's and if the remaining part of that family didn’t like them then maybe Ron and Ginny wouldn’t want to be their friends anymore. 

“When do they get here?” she asked, hiding her trembling hands underneath the table. 

Ginny smiled knowingly at her, “They’ll like you, Isa, how could they not? You’re some of mine and Ron’s best friends. If they don’t like you - which they won’t - they wouldn’t be stupid enough to say anything. Not when Mum adores you, Dad loves extracting every scrap of Muggle knowledge out of you, and even if they didn’t like you, Isa, you both make Ron and I happy - who can say anything against that? They get here on Thursday.” 

Isa smiled and shook her head, “How is it that you’re so perceptive?” 

Ginny grinned cheekily, “I got Ron’s perceptiveness as well!” 

“Hey!” the offended party exclaimed, half laughing at what even he would admit was at least a partially true statement. 

When dinner was finished up and the dishes placed beside the sink, the four headed towards the door intending to have one last fly and to open their Hogwarts book lists. 

“Ginny, I could do with some help with the washing up, and Ronald, as I asked you earlier, could you please go and tidy your room,” Mrs Weasley asked. 

Ginny pulled a face while her back was to Mrs Weasley before turning and walking over to the sink. Isa went to follow only to be stopped by Mrs Weasley’s voice. 

“No, don’t worry about it, Isa, you two go on out to the paddock. My two will join you shortly.”  
Isa and Harry, not left with much of a choice, complied. 

It was as they trotted out to the broom shed that Isa realised she should probably take this opportunity to tell Harry about the whole ‘sharing feelings’ thing. 

She sighed quietly. That was the last thing she wanted to do. 

 

TATATATATATATATAT 

 

Mrs Weasley stared out of the kitchen window, the Potter twins getting further away by the second. 

The past couple of weeks had been heartbreaking and yet had provided her with an opportunity to see something that she thought she was most privileged to witness. 

She had seen both twins at their absolute lowest and had since seen them bounce back from what they had experienced and yet not become bitter or hardened to the world. Something that Mrs Weasley was incredibly proud of them for. That they were not her biological children didn’t matter. They were children of her heart. To see them battered and bruised in those hospital beds had ignited both her anger at those who had wronged them, and also ensured that whatever those two young adults needed, she would do her level best to provide. 

Physically she knew they were both healing as well as could be expected. But mentally, she knew there was still some way for them to go. Before this evening, she’d seen only what they’d wanted her to see; two incredibly polite, somewhat shy teenagers. But the conversation she’d observed between her youngest and Isa enlightened her as to where they were mentally. That Isa actually at least partially accepted Ginny’s reassurance was comforting. 

“Do you think they’re going to be okay?” Mrs Weasley asked, her voice wobbling slightly. 

Ginny looked up from where she was scrubbing the dishes, the small smile on her face warm and kind. She withdrew her hands from the water and dried them surreptitiously on a tea towel before pulling her Mum into a gentle hug. 

“Eventually,” she whispered. 

 

TATATATATATATATATAT

 

She was doing it. She was actually doing it. 

Isa flew around the field, Harry’s arms around her waist. He’d very patiently explained precisely what was required to stay upright when on the broom. However, when it was apparent that she wasn’t getting it to the extent that she could physically apply it, he had suggested they fly on the same room just so she could get the feel of it - something which had worked wonders. 

She clambered off his broom, stumbling slightly upon landing. 

She picked up the broom she’d been using that morning and climbed on. Utilising what she’d felt on Harry’s broom, she kicked off. Expecting the stomach-churning rocket Harry’s broom had been, she was somewhat disappointed at the dawdling pace of the ancient broom she was on. As she progressed around the field, she found that she was actually enjoying herself. Isa could see why the others were all obsessed with flying - it provided quite the thrill when you were sat on the broom properly. 

Isa descended, her feet impacting the ground a little harder than would have been comfortable. 

As if it had been timed, Ron broke through the tree-line (Ginny right on his heels), a bundle of parchment clutched in one hand, an ink bottle and quill in the other. 

“Nice flying, Isa,” Ginny shouted as she dashed across the field towards them. 

Isa smiled, “Thanks!” 

She joined Harry in sitting cross-legged on the ground, the two Weasleys completing their circle.

“Hogwarts letters…” Ron said, passing the letters around. 

Isa tore into hers unsurprised by almost everything it contained. 

“Dress robes?” three voices said at the same time all with the same shocked tone. 

Ginny looked up, “I haven’t got them on my list…” 

“I wonder why we need them though? I don’t think Fred or George had them on their lists in fourth year,” said Ron.

Ginny looked thoughtful, “Maybe it’s something to do with the ‘event’ that Percy keeps hinting about? Dress robes are for formal events, I can’t think of anything the others did that would need formal clothes.” 

Isa glanced down at the letter still sitting in the centre of the circle. 

“Maybe Hermione will know?” she suggested.

Harry grabbed the envelope, tore it open and began to read it aloud. 

 

“Dear Harry, Isa, Ron and Ginny,  
I hope that everything and everyone is okay at the Burrow. My parents say that Friday is the best day for them, and as the Quidditch Cup is next Monday, I’ll Floo to the Burrow then.  
I’ve been very busy with school work so that I’ll have plenty of time to help anyone who needs it (that doesn’t mean do it for you, Ron) after the Cup. My school letter arrived a few days ago saying we need dress robes this year, I’m not sure what for. Do your dad or brother know, Ron/Ginny? When are you going to Diagon Alley to pick up your books? Mum and Dad are going to take me shopping in Diagon Alley before I Floo to the Burrow on Friday. Maybe we could meet you there?  
Let me know what you’re doing as soon as you can,  
Love, Hermione” 

 

Isa picked up the roll of parchment Ron had brought down with him. 

“If we reply now then Hedwig should be able to deliver it to Hermione just as she wakes up.”  
Isa started to write, saying aloud what her quill was scribing. 

 

“Dear Hermione,  
Everyone here is fine - all very excited about the Quidditch World Cup. Friday sounds great, can’t wait to see you. How are you and your parents? How’s their Practice doing?” 

 

“Practice?” Ron asked. 

“Their company, Ron,” Isa answered. 

 

“That’s very generous of you, thanks. Our letters also have dress robes in them, but Ginny’s letter didn’t. Percy’s been hinting that some event is happening at Hogwarts this year, so we suspect it's for that.” 

 

At this, Isa paused. 

“Do we know when we’re going to Diagon Alley?” 

Harry shook his head. 

“I think Mum said something about the 20th, and that she’d go for us if the Final goes on over that date, but I think that’s the current plan,” Ginny stated thoughtfully. 

 

“We’re going to Diagon Alley around the 20th - you are welcome to join us if only for Ice Cream. 

 

See you soon, love from Isa, Ginny, Harry and Ron.” 

 

“There, do you want me to read it back to you? Or just send it?” 

“Send it,” came the affirmative.

Isa picked up the other piece of spare parchment and reloaded her quill. It flew across the parchment as everyone offered suggestions as to what to put. With a final flourish of her quill and the signing of their names, she put the quill down on the grass and focussed on reading the words in front of her aloud. 

 

“Professor Dumbledore,  
As you suggested, we’ve been working on our astronomy. We’ve spotted the star we spoke about a few times since the end of term but haven’t seen it in the last few weeks. We’re not even sure if it's still there - we would be exceedingly happy if you could prove us wrong. Could you send some pointers to aid us and our hosts in seeing it? Or perhaps even in how to contact it?  
Thank you for your time  
Harry, Isa, Ginny and Ron” 

 

The decision to ask Dumbledore to talk to the Weasley parents had been well debated but ultimately included because the benefits of them knowing (such as being able to just Floo Dumbledore instead of using owls) outweighed the negatives. 

Harry laid back on the hardened earth, staring up at the stars. He uttered a low piercing whistle. Hedwig dove out of Ron’s window, using the momentum gained from the fall to glide over to Isa’s upraised arm before sticking out her leg for letter attachment. 

When Hedwig was back in the air, the conversation turned to Ginny’s birthday. 

“So what do you want to do on your birthday, Ginny?” Isa asked, grateful that Owl Order Catalogues existed and had allowed herself and Harry to purchase gifts for their friend a few days previously. 

“Well I thought we could start off with some Quidditch in the morning before Hermione, Bill and Charlie arrive for lunch, and then we could go down to the Pond, or we could fly some more, or play exploding snap or…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... as you can see... I'm back... definitely not dead... 
> 
> Thank You for all your lovely comments and kudos - they are very much appreciated and always make my week (and remind me that I'm not the only one watching this story unravel so I should probably stop procrastinating and actually write).
> 
> New chapters should be up every two weeks - hopefully :) 
> 
> Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - All bold text has been taken directly from JK Rowlings 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire', Chapter 5, Pages 56-61. It is not mine.

Ginny jolted awake. 

 

“No, not Isa, please... Use me instead, I’m just as guilty. STOP! Plea-” Isa begged, her eyes firmly closed and a fine sheen of sweat upon her forehead. 

 

Ginny looked at her, confused, whilst shaking her shoulder gently. Why was she talking as if she were someone else?

 

Isa’s eyes shot open, wide and panicked before abruptly fluttering closed again. Her chest resumed rising and falling gently. 

 

Ginny sat back, brow furrowed as she tried to work out what had just happened. Obviously, Isa had been in the throes of a nightmare - a bad one. What didn’t quite fit was why she was talking about herself in the third person. 

 

Excitement filtered in around her thoughts distracting her, mirroring the light of the impending dawn creeping around the edges of the curtains. 

 

Bill and Charlie were coming today. Not to mention the Very Important Fact that she was now 13 years old… 

 

Ginny glanced at the clock - 5:04. She smiled, counting the hours until her eldest brothers arrived. 6 hours - she only had to wait 6 hours and then they’d be here. Ginny couldn’t wait to go flying with them, to bombard them with questions on what was going on in their lives, and to find out what interesting things had happened since she’d last seen them. In the face of seeing two of her favourite people in the world, her birthdays' significance faded. 

 

A creak came loudly from the corridor, a shadow temporarily blocking the light from the window across the hallway. 

 

Her eyes tracked their movement and she wondered who it was.

 

Ginny’s hand gently gripped the handle of her wand - as unlikely as it was that it was anyone who didn’t belong, the feel of the smooth, strangely warm wood was still comforting. Her feet pressed firmly against her floor - warm against the night chilled wood. She crept onto the landing and down the stairs, missing the creaky step by force of habit. 

 

The light coming from the living room drew her in. The mop of black hair attached to the person hunched over a candle gave away the answer to the question that had drawn her downstairs. 

Harry was hunched over in the corner of the sofa, his arms around his knees, his eyes staring into the distance. 

 

Making herself as large and noisy as possible so as not to startle him, she approached. 

 

The hint of an exhausted, slightly bitter smile crossed his mouth. 

 

“Come to check on how the Boy-Who-Can’t-Even-Keep-Himself-And-His-Sister-Safe-From-The-Muggles is coping after his ‘horrible ordeal’?” 

 

Ginny stopped herself from shrinking back from the self-loathing venom that laced his words. It would not help Harry to shy away or leave him to wallow in self-pity. 

 

“No, I came to see why there was a light on down here,” she said neutrally.  

 

Harry’s shoulders slumped slightly. 

 

“You know, you’re not alone in this, Harry.” 

 

He met her eyes, his expression hard. 

 

“I’m not? Because at my last count, only Isa and I know what we’ve been through, what we’re going through. And even Isa doesn’t feel as… ”

 

“Guilty?” 

 

Harry nodded, eyes boring into the wall beside the fireplace. 

 

“Nobody understands. Isa feels it to an extent, but she shouldn’t have to. It was my fault. I punched him, he would’ve let us go upstairs after a few slaps if I hadn’t. Isa would’ve been okay. She wouldn’t be having all this trouble with her ribs or scars or... nightmares. This whole situation is on me.” 

 

Ginny shook her head, “It’s not on you, Harry. You didn’t beat yourself up-”

 

“See! This is what I mean. Everyone is so insistent that it’s all Ve… our Uncles fault. But I provoked him. I made him react that way! Nobody gets it!” Harry snapped, his voice increasing in volume.

 

Ginny hardened her glare; beating yourself up because of misplaced guilt was something she knew well. 

 

“Actually, Harry, I do get it.”

 

Harry’s head snapped around, his eyes narrowed. 

 

Ginny continued quickly before he could interrupt. 

 

“My first year, remember? I attacked people with a giant snake. Yes, Tom was controlling me; that didn’t make me feel any less like it was my fault. I wasn’t strong enough to keep him out of my head; to stop writing in that bloody diary. You think I don’t feel guilty about that? I attacked Hermione, a girl who was then nice enough to completely forget about it and befriend me less than a week after she was revived.” 

 

Ginny stopped and took a deep breath, “You’re not the only one in the world who’s set off a chain reaction of bad events, Harry. As for the impact this has had on Isa, don’t you think she feels the same way about the impacts this has had on you? It’ll be okay, Harry, you’re safe now, Isa’s safe; they can’t hurt you anymore. You can breathe.” 

 

Harry’s glare, which had been gradually softening, completely dissolved. 

 

Ginny smiled gently and opened her arms. Hugs were something both herself and every one of her siblings sought out when upset; it stood to reason that Harry would want one too. Or if he didn’t seek them out now, perhaps this was the ‘Welcome to the Weasley Family’ tradition they could start teaching him. 

 

Harry hesitantly unwound his arms from around his knees and sofa shuffled over to her. 

“Does it ever go away?” he asked, leaning into her slightly as she wrapped her arms around him. 

 

Ginny thought for a minute before answering, “In most ways, yes. But it will always have some hand in who you are. Or at least that’s how its been for me. The nightmares should get less frequent - I haven’t had one in just over two weeks now - and I only had that one because someone made a bad joke about a basilisk.”

 

Harry made a noise of discontent as she slipped out of the hug and off the sofa. She held out her hand. 

 

“I know what will make you feel better,” she said with a broad grin, her fingers wiggling invitingly. 

Harry tentatively took her hand and was tugged outside. 

 

The sun was peeking over the horizon, casting shadows and wiping the odd grey light that exists only in the pre-dawn moments from sight. 

 

There was a slightly brisk breeze, the grass wet against their feet but as Ginny tugged them over to the broom shed, the broad smile that crossed Harry’s face assuring her that she was doing the right thing.

 

Anticipation made her hand grip the night chilled wood tightly as they left the broom shed. 

She glanced sideways at Harry, before mounting with practiced ease. His face still slightly tight transformed as he kicked off the ground. The tension wiped from his body with one swift kick off the dewy grass. 

 

The feeling of cold air pulling her hair back from her face removed any lingering trace of sleepiness and allowed a still sort of peacefulness to settle over her. A quick check over her shoulder assured her that Harry was easily following the soaring arcs her broom was making.

At last, they reached the clearing they had been in several days earlier. 

 

Sunlight bathed the grass yellow beneath them. 

 

Ginny spun her broom, so she was facing Harry. 

 

“Up for a game of tag?” she asked, grinning mischievously. 

 

Harry's response was to dart forwards and down, shooting underneath her and tapping the inside of her left ankle. 

 

Tucking tightly, she rolled forwards, so she was upside down but now going in the direction that Harry had moved off in. The cheeky sod was hovering on the other side of the clearing juggling apples with a huge grin across his face. 

 

“Hey, Ginny, Happy Birthday!” he bellowed, before lobbing an apple at her rapidly approaching form. 

 

Ginny’s arm shot out in front of her and snatched the apple out of thin air, before lightly rapping her fingers on Harry’s broom handle and shooting directly upwards. 

 

“Thanks,” she shouted over her shoulder at a now determined Harry. 

 

They wove in and out of each other, within about half an hour Ginny had grasped precisely how close she could get to Harry without being touched by his outstretched arm. Which, an hour and a half later came in handy as she slipped past Harry’s fingers just as the time limit ran out - she had won. 

 

They slumped on the grass thoroughly out of breath and in desperate need of a shower but almost glowing with happiness. 

 

Ginny mentally ran through when each of her brothers would be up and want to use the shower - and groaned when she realised that the shower would be in use for a solid hour if not an hour and a half. 

 

“What?” Harry asked. 

 

“Just judging whether or not we’ll be able to have a shower before everyone gets up. We won’t.” 

Harry lay back on the grass, apparently giving up on even the idea of moving. 

 

Ginny took in the scene before her - everything was still, peaceful. Not even the breeze that had existed earlier remained. The sun was higher in the sky now, suggesting that the sunblock charm would soon be necessary if she didn’t want to turn into a lobster later on. 

 

“Mum’s up,” Ginny said, looking at the plume of smoke that rose above the Burrow and then rising to her feet. 

 

Together they trudged towards the promise of food and a warm (if any hot water remained) shower. 

 

The smell of scones, toast and bacon greeted them at the door. As if summoned by thought alone, a teapot sailed towards the table, steam billowing from its spout. Three teacup’s followed in quick succession behind it landing on the table with barely a clink. 

 

Ginny raised her eyebrow at the two extra cups.

 

Mrs Weasley came round the corner a second later, the milk jug cradled in her hands - her wand sticking out from the front pocket of her apron. 

 

She smiled softly, “I saw you over the trees, dear. Have a cup of tea with me whilst breakfast is cooking?” 

 

Ginny nodded, before pulling out a seat at the table and sitting down. 

 

Harry hovered awkwardly by the door. 

 

She pushed out the chair next to her in response and gave him her best impression of her Mum’s questioning stare. Harry gave her a startled look before sitting down.

 

“What are your plans for today?” 

 

“Flying, flying and more flying, Mum, what else is there?” Ginny said with a laugh. 

 

Mr Weasley clattered down the stairs, pulling his travelling cloak on over the top of his robes. 

 

“Ah, up already are we? Excellent. Happy Birthday, Ginny, I’ll see you later at the party. Um,” he said, turning to his wife. “Will five be okay Molly, dear?”

 

Mrs Weasley nodded briskly, giving him a peck on the cheek and several pieces of toast.

 

“Right then, I’ll be off. Have a nice day, everyone.” 

 

“You too, Arthur!” she shouted after him as he walked through the still open front door. 

Fred bounced down the stairs, grinning wickedly. 

 

“Ahhh not-so-ickle-Gin-Gin! Where’s the Birthday Breakfast Bonnet?” 

 

Ginny’s smile dropped; she’d purposefully ignored the topic of the dreaded hat all Weasley’s were made to wear at breakfast on their birthdays when not at school. Fred clearly hadn’t. 

He almost danced across the kitchen to the window sill where the bonnet was kept. With a flourish Gilderoy Lockhart would’ve been proud of, he whisked it from the ledge and held it aloft. 

At that exact moment, Errol soared through the window, a letter clutched in his talons and collided with both Fred’s outstretched arm and the dreaded hat. With grace and precision that would’ve been hard to produce deliberately, the article landed in the frying pan - a new and peculiar type of bacon to add to the regular collection already in there.

 

A smile spread across Ginny’s face, this birthday was looking promising already. 

  
  


\---------------------------------TATATAT----------------------------------------

 

She dived under George, tucking the Quaffle close to her chest, in-between the handle of her broom and the dark green top she’d received for her birthday this morning. 

 

Harry appeared as if from nowhere in front of her, blocking the path she’d intended to take. She dove further down still, hunching over the ball to protect it from Harry’s reaching grasp. 

 

Time and time again, the dark-haired young man blocked her or stole the ball (only for her to steal it back minutes later). It was as if no-one else in existed on the pitch, for nobody else seemed to be able to touch them or the Quaffle unless they were passed to. They were dancing on brooms. 

 

Finally, after sneaking a goal through Ron’s hoop, Ginny looked down and saw two of her favourite people in the world sitting on the grass next to the Quidditch pitch chatting happily.

She shot towards the ground, so fast that by rights smoke should have come out the tail of her broom. The broom dropped carelessly to ground as she landed and immediately broke into a hard sprint. 

 

Bill stood up smiling widely. Ginny launched herself at him and hugged him for all she was worth. 

 

“When did you get here?” she asked, pink-cheeked and breathless.

Charlie smirked as he held out his arms, still sat firmly on the grass. 

 

“Long enough ago to see that you’re challenging my position as most talented Quidditch player in the family,” he laughed into her hair after she had attacked him with a hug. 

 

A loud gong sound came from the direction of the house. 

 

“Come on then, Birthday Girl, lunchtime,” Bill said, grabbing a laughing Ginny around the waist and swinging her around so she could grab hold of the back of his shoulders and wrap her legs around his waist. 

 

He jogged through the tree’s, only to be overtaken overhead - with significant quantities of whooping -  by those who’d been playing Quidditch following the scents drifting from the open window of the kitchen. 

  
  


\-------------TATATATAT------------ 

  
  


Ginny sighed internally, the cool water soothing her sun-heated skin. She floated in the middle of the pond, ignoring the carnage that raged around her. Water droplets rained down upon everyone, rendering even those not actually in the pool rather damp. A muggle ball - liberated from the muggle park in the Village - sailed over her and landed with a splash next to where the twins were attempting to hold Bill underwater. 

 

Charlie, back from helping their mum clean up lunch, pelted across the field wearing what appeared to be only a towel and a positively gigantic evil grin. Sensing what was going to happen, Ginny sat up quickly and did her best to swim over to the patio ledge before her brother achieved what he was aiming for. 

 

Her head whipped around just in time to see the towel drop - revealing speedos - and her second oldest brothers divebomb into the water. A wall of water headed in every direction, further muddying the shallow end of the pond and knocking a newly released Bill off of his recently regained feet. Ginny turned her head away from its onslaught towards where Harry and Isa were challenging Ron to a game of chess - hoping their combined force would end his epically long streak. Their faces were turned towards her, collective panic evident upon all of them. The frigid water welled up over her head sending an icy wave across her head and the patio towards the Chess players. 

 

By the time they had recovered from the influx of water Charlie was out of the pool, and ready for the groans of sibling annoyance. 

 

“My eyes, my eyes!” Fred and George yelled, covering each other's eyes. 

 

“Speedos, Charlie, really?” Bill moaned, rolling his eyes. 

 

Charlie grinned and picked up his wand from inside his discarded towel. 

 

“Accio trunks,” he intoned with a lazy flick in the direction of the Burrow. 

 

Ginny pushed her sopping hair out of her face, watching the chess pieces scrabbling back to the board from where the sudden influx of water had washed them too. The three players were eyeing up the now muddy ground with a wary eye. 

 

“Oi, Bill!” Ron called, “As you’re my favourite brother - come and dry the ground for us?” 

 

Bill, sighed but made his way towards them, wand already ejected from is holster on his arm. 

 

The ground was dry and the pieces replaced on the board less than a minute later.

 

“Hey, Charlie, shouldn’t your shorts have shown up by now?” Fred snickered.

 

“Yes, Fred, I think they should have… Of course, if his magic is as lacklustre as those abs, then I’m not surprised…” 

 

Charlie narrowed his eyes slightly, twitching his wand in the twins direction.

 

They sprouted a large rack of antlers each (that instantaneously became entangled in each other).

 

“Hey!”

 

“How’s that for lacklustre…?”  Charlie snorted.

 

A voice came from the direction of the house. Ginny’s head whipped around - she knew that voice. 

 

Hermione was walking briskly in their direction in her swimming costume and holding up what were unmistakably Charlie's swimming trunks. 

 

“Are these anyones? They almost knocked Percy down the stairs…” she said with a slight blush.

Charlie held his hand out sheepishly, “They’d be mine…”

 

Ginny practically jumped out of the water and sprinted over to her friend. 

 

“Hermione!” 

 

She threw her arms around her friend and almost immediately felt Isa’s slightly hesitant pair of arms encircle them both from behind. 

 

“GROUP HUG!” Fred or George (Ginny couldn’t tell which it was from this position) bellowed, finally separating their antlers. 

 

The girls hastily released each other before they could be inundated with a large amount of over-exuberant Weasley. 

 

“Your mum wants to see you two by the way - something to do with order forms?” Hermione tossed over her shoulder as she made her way to the water. 

 

Fred and George exchanged slightly panicked looks and ran inside. 

 

“Why do they have antlers?” Hermione said mildly as she sat down next to Isa with her legs dangling in the pool. 

 

“Well…” 

  
  


\-------------------TATATATAT----------------------

  
  
  


Ginny’s hand lazily petted the thick fur in between Crookshanks’ ears, releasing the cats steam engine like purr. The birthday that had seemed so promising was starting to descend into the usual madness of the Weasley household with two arguments occurring at the same time. What was unusual was that what was that one of the arguments couldn’t be made out - the Weasleys were a loud bunch, if they were angry about something you knew about it. From that Ginny surmised that the second, quieter argument was being held by at least two non-Weasleys, and as Hermione was curled up, her back against a tree with a book, it was fairly obvious who the culprits were. 

 

The first shouting match required no sleuthing whatsoever to understand what it was about. The bangs and explosions that had been coming from the twins room had apparently had a purpose if their irate mother was to believed. When the seven of them remaining outside had ventured back into the Burrow to get changed after swimming they’d been greeted by a furious Mrs Weasley brandishing unusually long rolls of parchment all topped with the header  ‘Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes’ at a set of equally furious Weasley twins. That the rolls of parchment (which they had later discovered where order forms) ended up in the lit fireplace did nothing to resolve the argument. 

 

The Potters argument could be heard in the sense that she could make out the odd raised voice but what they were actually talking about was known only to themselves. 

 

As it was, she was currently lying on the grass beside the pond entertaining Hermione’s cat, waiting for the tell-tale signs that dinner was approaching. 

 

Almost as if they had read her mind, her eldest brothers voices drifted over the lawn towards her. 

 

“Mum says you’re back till Christmas?” 

 

Ginny got up and walked towards the lawn, after giving Crookshanks one final stroke. 

 

“Yeah, the Welsh reserve needs more staff for the Tournament, so some of us are being drafted over until Christmas. No point paying for a bed somewhere else when I have a perfectly good one here that’s within comfortable apparating distance. Mum almost hugged me to death when I told her I was moving back to the UK for a few months - I couldn’t say no to her invitation after that.” 

 

Ginny continued forwards, with slightly more stealth. This ‘Tournament’ could be the event at Hogwarts that everyone kept hinting about. 

 

“I don’t blame you, she can be pretty persuasive when she wants to be. Mum’s already on at me to cut my hair…” 

 

They both chuckled, moving into the shed. It was barely ten seconds later when they reappeared, levitating two battered old tables Ginny had vague recollections of using to build tree houses with when they were younger. 

 

Charlie’s table bumped into Bill’s with a bang. The pair grinned and started a game to see who could hit the others table the hardest. 

 

Harry and Isa walked out of the Paddock, a clear gap between them; neither twin looked happy. Ginny frowned - it wasn’t like the Potter’s to be fighting. 

 

As the Potter twins saw Bill and Charlie’s antics with the tables, they smiled and appeared to move on from their disagreement. 

 

Ron ambled around the corner, coming from the front of the house. He was carrying cutlery in both hands. 

 

Bill smirked, seeming drawing his table away from Charlie’s before bringing it back to collide - creating one humongous bang that seemed to echo off the surrounding hills. One of the table legs, that had been wobbling dangerously after the previous collision, fell onto the grass below.

A window - Percy’s - was flung open and a head (wearing a particularly annoyed expression) stuck out. 

 

**“Will you keep it down?” he bellowed.**

 

**“Sorry, Perce, “ said Bill, grinning, “How’re the cauldron bottoms coming on?”**

 

**“Very badly,” said Percy peevishly, and he slammed the window shut again. Chuckling, Bill and Charlie directed the tables safely onto the grass, end to end, and then, with a flick of his wand, Bill reattached the table leg and conjured tablecloths from nowhere.**

 

Ron dumped both handfuls of cutlery on the table just as Mr Weasley arrived, levitating a tall stack of plates and a large bowl of potato salad. 

 

He set them down on the table and stepped back. As if conducting an orchestra, he directed the stream of dishes coming through the back window onto the table. 

 

The Weasley twins appeared from around the side each carrying a stack of chairs. Their shoulders were hunched over, their faces not plastered with their usual identical grins but  instead a grim sort of determination. 

 

It was odd really, how fast the dinner came together when people chipped in. Without the need of the usual food gong, people congregated outside - seemingly summoned by the selection of food rapidly appearing on the table. 

 

Ginny shook her head, her Mum had really outdone herself this time. Stacks of sausage rolls appeared all along the table, platters of various meats next to them. A large chicken and ham pie sat dead centre, steam drifting out of two slits in the middle. At one end of the table, a basket of bread towered over everything around it. And yet, despite the ridiculous amount of food crammed on the table room had still been found for the plates and cutlery. 

 

The tables were creaking when they eventually sat down. Ginny couldn’t help but smile - she loved it when everyone was together like this. 

 

Conversations started up immediately. Percy had turned his attention to Hermione and Mr Weasley and was telling them in detail about his current report on cauldron bottom thickness. 

 

( **“I’ve told Mr Crouch I’ll have it ready by Tuesday. That’s quite a bit sooner than he expected it but I like to keep on top of things.”** ) 

 

Mrs Weasley was now focussing on Bill’s haircut (or his lack of one). 

 

( **“and your hair’s getting silly, dear. I wish you’d let me give it a trim…”** )

 

Her other brothers and the Potters were talking spiritedly about the World Cup and Ireland's chances. 

 

(“Ireland have been playing excellently as a team, it's just a matter of if their Seeker’s a match for Krum… which I doubt.” Fred started. 

 

“Ah, but Krum is only one player… their chasers haven’t been as strong as Irelands have.” Isa added, her chin up slightly.) 

 

Ginny smiled happily - this was just what she’d needed. The appearance of strawberry ice cream for pudding just confirmed that. Today had been one of the best birthdays ever. 

 

As the formalities of dinner eroded and seats were switched - she noticed that the Potters had left the table and drifted off to a secluded patch of garden. Harry’s shoulders were tense and raised, Isa was staring down at a flower in her hand. Ginny guessed that this was a continuation of their previous argument. To her relief, it was only a few minutes later that Harry tugged a wooden Isa into a hug. 

 

By the time the two had returned to the table the topic of conversation had moved onto their various jobs. Charlie had just finished a particularly violent demonstration of how he’d obtained his latest burn. Bill was now attempting to top his story with the equally perilous tale of a tomb he’d invaded last month that had contained a magically animated mummy. 

 

“-Robbins managed to get off a fire curse that lit the thing up before the muggles could see it but it was a bit closer than any of us would’ve liked,” Bill finished modestly. 

 

“Wicked…” Ron murmured. 

 

“You lot’ll have something exciting going on at Hogwarts this year - just you wait.”

 

“Bill! The Ministry has expressly forbidden telling students before they’re at Hogwarts.” Percy said, narrowing his eyes at his older brother. 

 

“Don’t you worry, Perce, I won’t tell them. That doesn’t mean they can’t guess though…” 

 

Ginny smiled, “Is it to do with this ‘Tournament’ you two were talking to each other about earlier?” 

  
Bill and Charlie both grinned widely at her over Percy’s protests. 

 

“How is your summer homework coming along?” Mrs Weasley interjected, clearly changing the subject, her eyes narrowed slightly. 

 

“Just spiffing-” 

 

“Absolutely top notch-”

 

“Fantabulous-”

 

“Corking-”

 

“Wonderfully-”

 

“Crackingly-” said George.

 

“Simply amazingly, Mum,” Fred added. 

 

Hermione watched the exchange with a wry smile before turning her attention to Mrs Weasley. 

 

“We’re going to do some tomorrow, Mrs Weasley, see how much everyone’s done and where people are struggling.”

 

That was the brilliant thing about having so many older siblings about, Ginny mused - it didn’t matter that no-one had the same homework as her - as they’d all done it before and could help her anyway. If anything it meant she wouldn’t struggle as much next summer when she had the same homework as they had now. 

 

Placated by Hermione, Mrs Weasley abandoned her homework related interrogation and excused herself from the table. 

 

Everyone went quiet, dragging her from her thoughts. 

 

Almost instantly her Mum appeared, carrying a large cake. 

 

It was set down in front of her, the candles flickering madly. 

 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GINNY!” 

 

\----------TATATATAT----------- 

  
  


Many miles away, perched on a particularly uncomfortable rock, in a particularly unsanitary cave, a particularly grubby man sat eating his dinner. In comparison to the feast at the Burrow, his dinner was meagre indeed. His trip into a nearby muggle town earlier in the day had been unfruitful. Not only had he failed to procure much food but he was also half convinced he’d been seen by someone who had recognised him. 

 

He munched half-heartedly on a stale slice of bread, debating where to aim for next in his unwilling travels of the country. 

 

Snorting, he shook his hair out of his eyes (and food). If only James could see him now. They’d had such plans for the future. Dreams they’d shared. All… dead. He couldn’t decide which was a worse fate… to die at the hands of that which they hated or to live a leech on the edge of society, forced to take to the form that had been meant for protection of their werewolf. A form they had shared in to turn the worst nights into the best. 

 

Of course, the Dementors had taken the best nights from him - all he was left with was the worst.

 

So, when the spell slammed into him in the cave he didn’t really care; nothing could be worse than losing James.

 

The truly wicked cackling that sounded as he slumped onto the ground made him consider that he might not have actually hit rock bottom yet. 

 

“How would you like to play a part in the elimination of all those pesky Mudbloods and Halfbloods then, Mr Black?” a voice echoed throughout the room. “I remember how much you… loved them... at school. And of course, who could forget your… Godson, is it? And his Mudblood Mother.” 

 

Nothing could possibly be worse than when he lost James… except perhaps losing Harry.

 

Nope, definitely not at rock bottom yet. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Twooooo authors notes *gasp* - sorry - I needed you to know what the deal with the bold was before you read the chapter. 
> 
> Anywayyyyy - here's C7 (on time... may I add.. xD) . For any Ginny lovers among you - I trust you enjoyed? Any feedback is welcome - I'm not overly sensitive.   
> Thanks again to Cezza the fantisymozing for your council and grammar skills... And for poking me to finish this chapter.   
> Fun fact for this chapter - I didn't buy my copies of HP... I liberated them from my parents and they never asked for them back (their loss)... 
> 
> SNR :) (P.S I'm so excited for the future chapters... its going to be so much fun :D )


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Abuse/Torture Trigger within this chapter - the actual abuse/torture starts and ends ******* - if you’re squeamish in the slightest I wouldn’t read between the asterixis. The chapter still makes sense if you don’t read it - I included it for those of you who might be curious. 
> 
> Everything in bold is definitely not mine and is taken directly from ‘Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire’ by JK Rowling.

Somedays* (*read: most days) Ginny really didn't want to get out of bed. Today was not one of those days. It had been two weeks after Harry and Isa had arrived when Mr Weasley had come home clutching the sheef of tickets. On that day they'd been so convinced this day was going to take forever to arrive - if it ever did. And, after what seemed like a decade it finally had.

She stumbled downstairs to breakfast, her eagerness to get out of bed doing nothing to dispel the sleepiness and general clumsiness that comes with awakening. Blearily she ate her toast, ignoring the usual ruckus that accompanied a breakfast at the Weasleys. Intent to eat her fill accompanied only by her thoughts, Ginny focused on the upcoming event of a lifetime.

Quidditch….

A blissful smile spread across her face (broken only by the occasional opening of her mouth for the consumption of toast). How she loved it. Like most of her brothers, she preferred to play; but the nature of the game today - the pure calibre of the players and the sheer standard of flying - would rival the enjoyment she got out of playing herself.

Ginny was dragged out of her thoughts by the eruption of masses of small, brightly coloured toffees from the persons of both Fred and George.

Wincing at her mother's furious tirade, she grabbed the last slice of toast from her plate, placed her dishes in the sink and retreated to her room. Absentmindedly she grabbed her backpack (still munching her way through her toast) and slipped downstairs and out the door.

"How are you not bothered by that?" Harry asked quietly, following her out the door.

"That?" Ginny shrugged, "just grew up with it I suppose. We all know that Mum and Dad love us unconditionally. If they're screaming at us, it just means we've done something they aren't happy with us doing. Doesn't mean they love us any less."

Harry stared pensively at the green-tinged horizon.

"With… Them… shouting, well it - it didn't mean the same thing."

Ginny gently laid her hand on his shoulder.

"They were wrong, Harry. They were supposed to love you unconditionally."

Harry looked at her, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

"You know, I think I'm starting to get it - this whole what family should do thing. I've been thinking about it. It's a bit like what Isa and I have… only with more arguing."

Ginny snorted and shook her head. Internally, she marvelled over the steps that Harry had made in the past month. To have gone through what he had and less than 2 months later cracking jokes about it - Harry was just in a league by himself. Isa was sort of there, she could and did occasionally talk about it in vague terms, but she never joked about it. Yes - Harry truly was a unique person.

Fred and George stomped past them, distinctly downcast and definitely not their usual selves. Ginny's parents, Hermione and Isa followed them out of the house - none of them looking particularly cheerful. It seemed that the apparent demise of the twins shop (Ginny knew them too well to think that one small set back would stop them) was upsetting everyone.

" **Well, have a lovely time," said Mrs Weasley, "and behave yourselves," she called after the twins' retreating backs, but they did not look back or answer. "I'll send Bell, Charlie and Percy along around midday," Mrs Weasley said to Mr Weasley,** as the Quidditch party set off across the lawn after the twins.

The walk down the lane to the village had never seemed longer. The sound of her father chatting happily to Harry about the travel arrangements for World Cup washed over her.

"You alright, Isa?" she asked the older girl with a smile.

"Yeah, I'm good, Gin. How was your toast?"

"Dreadful… I'm so excited I don't think I could've eaten much more though. Thank Merlin Mum was distracted with the twins, or I definitely wouldn't have been able to get away with that - not with her continual attempts to fatten all of us up," Ginny laughed.

"No, probably not. Your Mum's lovely, but can be a bit forceful when it comes to food."

"No kidding… if we weren't all Quidditch mad, I'm certain we'd all be like Quaffles by now."

Both girls continued on in a sleepy sort of silence until they came to the bottom of a reasonably steep-sided hill.

"Blimey…" Isa uttered, her eyes wide.

It was with determination and aching legs that they climbed the hill, accompanied by the gradual lightening of the sky. More than a few times they stumbled on the uneven turf, only to be caught by a pair of hands. Thankfully they were soon at the top, accompanied by a puffed out Hermione.

" **Now we just need the Portkey," said Mr Weasley, replacing his glasses and squinting around at the ground. "It won't be big… come on…"**

Ginny scoured the ground with her eyes, thinking that they would probably be a bit more successful if they actually knew what the portkey was.

A shout drew her attention from a suspiciously thick clump of grass.

" **Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we've got it!"**

Two mysterious figures (whom Ginny presumed had shouted) appeared over the crest of the other side of the hill.

" **Amos!"** Mr Weasley shouted happily as he strode across the hilltop. Sharing slightly wary looks, the girls followed.

When they reached the pair of strangers, Mr Weasley was shaking the hand of the eldest. Ginny recognised him from somewhere but couldn't remember precisely where.

" **This is Amos Diggory, everyone," said Mr Weasley, "Works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I think you know his son, Cedric?"**

Ah, that's where she knew him from; Platform 9 ¾.

" **Hi," said Cedric, looking around at them all.**

"Hi…" Ginny mumbled in chorus with all but Fred and George.

" **Long walk, Arthur?"**

Ginny jumped up and down a little on the balls of her feet ignoring the conversation. Despite being summer, it was still rather nippy at this time in the morning.

" **\- Mind you, it looks like I got off easy…" Amos Diggory peered good-naturedly around at the three Weasley boys, Harry, Hermione, Ginny and Isa. "All these yours, Arthur?"**

"Oh, no, just the redheaded boys and Ginny over there," said Mr Weasley pointing out each of his children. "This is Hermione, a friend of Ron and Ginny - and Harry and Isa, also friends of -"

" **Merlin's beard," said Amos Diggory, his eyes widening, "Harry? Harry** _ **Potter**_ **?"**

" **Er - yeah," said Harry.**

Ginny cringed at how uncomfortable Harry looked. She knew he hated it when this kind of thing happened. Who wouldn't? Beside her, she could practically feel Isa bristling with irritation.

" **Ced's talked about you, of course," said Amos Diggory. "Told us all about playing against you last year … I said to him. I said - Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will …** _ **you beat Harry Potter!**_ "

Isa took half a step forward, scowling heavily. Ginny snatched her hand up and squeezed it. Isa's head snapped around; her eyes bored into Ginny's.

Ginny gave a minute shake of her head - it wouldn't do anything but burn bridges if she said anything.

It was Ginny's turn to hold Isa's gaze as Amos continued to rave about his son's Quidditch ability. She could see the anger building in Isa's eyes.

Ginny stepped closer to the older girl so she could whisper into Isa's ear.

"We all know that Harry is probably-" Isa bristled, "- the better flier - well they've never had a fair match before have they? Let him have his moment, Isa. You, me, Harry, Hermione, Ron - we all know why Harry fell off his broom. And that it had nothing to do with his flying ability. Do you really want Cedric Diggory and his father knowing the real reasons? Because if you blurt that out of anger, that won't help anyone. Leave it. Besides, Cedric looks like he wants the floor to swallow him up. He doesn't want this."

Isa turned to face her as everyone gathered around the portkey.

"Thank you," Isa whispered pulling her into a hug. Ginny smiled widely - not forced or even suggested physical contact actually initiated by Isa herself? Progress.

"You're welcome."

"Girls!" Mr Weasley called urgently.

They stepped into the circle around the portkey.

"Gin, one question,"

They placed a finger on the portkey.

"When did you get so wise?"

"3" Mr Weasley stated, staring at his watch.

Ginny smirked, "When you lot started being idiots…"

"1"

Ginny was flung back into the mess of colour, wind and general uncomfortableness that was portkey travel.

After what seemed like an eternity her back slammed into the floor, knocking the wind out of her.

" **Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill," said a voice.**

She struggled for a minute, just lying there, attempting to catch her breath.

Slowly, she regained easy breathing and became aware of someone lying next to her. She turned her head and met a pair of hazel eyes.

"You okay, Isa?"

The girl nodded.

"Just a bit winded, not sure my ribs liked that too much."

"Yeah, mine neither."

Harry and Hermione's concerned faces appeared above her.

"Okay down there, Ginny?"

"Yeah, not bad, could be comfier though… anyone fancy giving me a hand up?" she asked cheekily.

Harry nodded and held out a hand.

All at once she was back on her feet. She stumbled slightly, her head spinning as it adjusted to the rapid change in height.

She glanced across at where Hermione was helping Isa to her feet. Isa was upright, but her shoulders were hunched, and she winced a little as she settled on her feet.

Ginny empathised.

The wizard who'd greeted them upon landing directed them towards the gate that led into the campsite.

" **Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman's not helping. Trotting around talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice, not a worry about anti-Muggle security. Blimey, I'll be glad when this is over. See you later, Arthur."** He muttered to Mr Weasley before Disapparating.

" **I thought Mr Bagman was Head of Magical Games and Sports?" said Ginny, looking surprised. "He should know better than to talk about Bludgers near Muggles, shouldn't he?"**

" **He should," said Mr Weasley, smiling, and leading them through the gates into the campsite, "but Ludo's always been a bit … well …**   _ **lax**_ **about security. You couldn't wish for a more enthusiastic Head of the Sports Department, though. He played Quidditch for England himself, you know. And he was the best Beater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had."**

They trudged along the field through the scores of surprisingly ordinary looking tents towards what she assumed was going to be their pitch. It was only as they got closer to each tent that she surmised that perhaps they weren't as Muggle looking as they had looked from a distance. However, the closer to the edge of the forest they traipsed, the more extravagant the tents got.

" **Always the same," said Mr Weasley, smiling, "we can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us."**

Before them was a small plot of land, about half the size of the pond. Their pitch was pressed up against the side of the wood at the top of the field. There was a  **small sign hammered into the ground that**   **read 'Weezly'**. Ginny almost snorted - the number of misspellings their surname generated never failed to amuse her.

" **Couldn't have a better spot!" said Mr Weasley happily. "The pitch is just on the other side of the wood there, we're as close as we could be." He hoisted his backpack from his shoulders. "Right," he said excitedly, "no magic allowed, strictly speaking, not when we're out in these numbers on Muggle land. We'll be putting these tents up by hand! Shouldn't be too difficult … Muggles do it all the time … here,** Hermione, what do we do first?"

Mr Weasley pulled a large bundle of canvas and several handfuls of poles from inside his backpack. It was as a team that they managed to get the poles in the right holes and eventually hoist the contraption up to standing. As Ginny stood back and admired their collective handiwork, she came to the conclusion that Muggles must be highly tenacious people if their holidays involved constructing their own accommodation and that said construction took as long as that had.

Mr Weasley clambered into the first tent.

" **We'll be a bit cramped," he called, "but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."**

Harry followed him in.

Ginny didn't follow him. Instead, she went into what she assumed to be the girl's tent and dropped her bag on the top bed of the bunk closest to her. Hermione and Isa were close on her heels. Their eyes widened as they pushed through the tent flap, taking in the complete kitchen, bathroom and bedroom with four beds. Hermione took the bunk below her and Isa took the bottom bed of the other bunk. Isa sat down on her bed, her face drawn and shoulders tight, just as the boys started pouring through the tent flap.

Harry glanced around the tent briefly before taking a seat beside his sister. Her brothers moved around the tent, seemingly looking for differences between the girls' tent and their own before exiting with the saucepans and kettle from both tents. She went after them, closely followed by Hermione.

" **Well, why don't you, Harry, Isa and Hermione go and get us some water,** Ron **, and the rest of us will get some wood for a fire."**

Harry appeared through the tent flap.

"Actually Mr Weasley, Isa's not feeling great - would it be okay if she stayed here for now?"

Mr Weasley smiled gently.

"Of course, Harry. In that case, Ginny, why don't you go with those three? And we'll see you all later."

As they headed off across the campsite, armed with the saucepans and kettles, Ginny couldn't help but wonder what was going on with Isa.

 

**-TATATATAT-**

 

She watched Harry retreat out of the tent, hating that she was making such a fuss over nothing.

As she lifted her bag off the bed, pain shot down her rib cage. It was almost certainly a pulled muscle from the portkey. And while that wasn't serious, it wasn't altogether pleasant.

Isa reasoned that if a nap could work for figuring out particularly ugly Transfiguration problems, then a nap could work for sorting out her screwed up ribs. She laid her head down on the pillow, ignoring the slightly musty smell and closed her eyes.

 

_******************************************PREVIOUSLY*************************************************_

 

_It had been her turn to be punished._

_Harry had been meant to complete the chore list for today. She was collateral._

_The time was a mystery to her, which just increased her anxiety. She had no way of knowing what was going on upstairs; whether Harry was getting through the chores fast enough, or if it was close to when Uncle Vernon would be home. This lack of knowledge could be a blessing in disguise though - the less she knew, the less she could dread, and the more she could hold out hope that completing that list of tasks would happen._

_Isa guessed it had been at least five hours since Uncle Vernon had slammed the handcuffs around her wrists - long enough for her arms to go numb and the sores the metal had forced open to stop bleeding. Her toes, unshod, strained to reach the floor - anything to take the pressure off her shoulders._

_She stared into the darkness, unable to see anything and praying to anything that was listening that this nightmare end soon. She wasn't sure how much more her mind, or her body could take._

_The door at the top of the stairs slammed open into the bannister, flooding the basement with light. Isa flinched._

_Something blocked the light pouring through the door. Isa squinted up at it - her stomach dropped. Uncle Vernon was back._

_He shifted, flinging something towards her. Isa recoiled sharply. Upon stopping she could see clearly what it was. It was Harry._

_Blood ran freely from his temple across his forehead and dripped onto the concrete. His face was slack and his arms splayed._

" _HARRY!"_

_Isa struggled against the bonds, cursing how numb her arms were and how her hands still refused to fit through the handcuffs. The sores on her wrists opened again._

_Uncle Vernon came down the stairs slowly, a cruel smirk on his face. His hands were undoing his belt. Tugging it through each belt loop individually. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs._

" _NO. Leave Harry alone! Haven't you done enough?!"_

_His smirk got wider._

" _Oh, I'm not interested in him. His punishment for not completing his chores was your punishment…"_

_Uncle Vernon stepped over Harry._

" _GET AWAY FROM ME!" Isa screamed, kicking out with her feet. "I WON'T LET YOU TOUCH ME!"_

_Her foot sank into his stomach. He didn't move. His face darkened._

" _As if, I would want to come anywhere near a FREAK like you."_

_Isa didn't see the belt coming, she heard it. It whistled through the air towards her, the buckle biting sharply into her abdomen. She cried out._

" _What, Girl? Nothing to say now?"_

_Much to her relief, Uncle Vernon backed away without an answer._

_He grabbed Harry by the hair and used it to tug him to his feet. Harry's eyes opened slightly and met Isa's._

" _I'm sorry…" Harry mouthed._

_Vernon dragged Harry behind her, she heard the clanking of the chains against the wall. Harry yelped._

_Isa tried to turn her head to see what was going out, but her arms blocked her vision._

" _Now, Boy. You only have yourself to blame for this."_

_This time Isa sensed the blow coming. The belt sliced into her shoulder blades. She gasped. It burned._

_Uncle Vernon didn't pause between blows this time and repeated the motion._

_Isa lost track of time after that. Again and again, his belt struck her back. It wasn't long before she felt the trickle of what could only be blood, escape from under her t-shirt and soak into her pants. The sensation became more familiar the more the belt connected with her back._

_The door at the top of the stairs opened slowly._

" _Vernon? Vernon!" Petunia peered into the basement, her nose crinkled in distaste._

_The belt paused._

" _What are you doing? That belt was new last week. If you want it cleaned you're going to have to do it yourself," she paused, "Dudders is home. Oh, and a 'Mr Bryce' is on the phone for you."_

_Uncle Vernon walked around her and placed the belt on the floor in front of her._

" _If that belt has moved when I get back, there'll be hell to pay, Girl."_

_As he stomped up the stairs, Isa couldn't help but wonder how he expected her to move it or what she'd do with it when she'd moved it._

_The door slammed shut. Isa was grateful that he hadn't thought to turn the light out._

" _What happened, Harry?" she whispered._

_Harry groaned almost inaudibly, "I'm sorry, Isa - I was two chores off-"_

_The door crashed open, and Uncle Vernon thundered down the stairs with Dudley close behind him._

" _Right, where were we, Freaks? Ah yes, I was about to give Dudley some boxing lessons."_

_Dudley, who'd hung back, stepped forward somewhat hesitantly._

_While Vernons coaching of Dudley was somewhat amusing (and thankfully lacked any belt involvement), the results of it were not._

_Isa ached all over. It hurt to exist, let alone move._

_She closed her eyes. Maybe this was all just an awful dream; tomorrow she'd wake up in the bedroom upstairs, cold because Harry'd nicked all the covers, but not bleeding and in pain. Just maybe._

 

_***********************************************************_

 

Isa woke up slowly, not quite sure of how she felt. She pushed the covers off and stumbled to the bathroom. Her side felt a bit better - less achy - but she still resolved to take a pain potion before the match. It would require her full attention.

As she took care of her business in the bathroom, she considered the nightmare. That was the first time her brain had made her relive a memory instead of building on one of her fears. She wasn't sure how she felt about the nightmare. To be honest, she still wasn't entirely sure how she felt about the mess on the whole either.

In her head, she knew she had gone through what she'd dreamed, but it felt distant now, like a really really bad dream. Her heart, however, was a different matter.

She looked herself over in the mirror.

Eyes that'd once been so hopeful and full of life - haunted. Skin that'd been clear and unmarred - irrevocably scarred. Mind that'd once been pure and trusting - traumatised.

In short; it had stolen her innocence.

Her cheeks quickly became wet as she examined the light scarring that wrapped around her waist. It was nowhere near as bad as it had been before she'd started using the cream Madam Pomfrey had prescribed. They were only noticeable when you were looking closely. But still, it wasn't the scarring that was making her sad - it was what it represented.

She pulled her shirt over her head and examined her back. It was in worse shape than her front which was understandable given the amount of abuse it'd been through; in places, it was still clear what had caused it.

She smiled shakily; it was as if she was becoming reacquainted with her body. Which wasn't quite as difficult as she'd thought it was going to be.

Familiar laughter interrupted her explorations, and a wavering resolution landed in the centre of her mind.

 _I will_ not  _let him win._

Isa stared into the eyes of her reflection.

"If Harry can look at the scar that's a reminder of the night that took Mum and Dad from us every single time he looks in the mirror and not get in a tizzy about it, then I can too."

She turned from the mirror, grim determination on her face and the knowledge that to beat her tormentor, she just had to keep on living.

Isa grabbed a set of fresh clothes out of her rucksack and pulled them on.

She strode confidently out of the tent (remembering just before she left to quickly down a pain potion) with a broad smile on her face and her head held high.

 

**-TATATATAT-**

 

"IRELAND WIN!"

Isa's hands shot into the air, "YES!"

She joined Ron in jumping up and down. She could barely contain her contentment as they half danced, half walked out of the stadium.

The game had been amazing. At Hogwarts, the standard of play was high enough that you sometimes forgot that better players existed - if there had been any doubt of these higher standard players existing before, there wouldn't be again. The sheer speed the players shot past at, and the plays they carried out at that speed were mind-blowing. Upon discussion with the Weasley's, they had collectively come to the conclusion that 'Man of the Match' was undoubtedly Krum. Privately, Isa was more entranced with the Irish Chasers. As Seeker, Krum's moves (whilst spectacular and physically challenging) were impressive but lacked what the Chasers had in spades; communication and coordination between each other. To take into account the movement of nine different players and three balls whilst also flying, and mentally working out what plays could be used - that seemed far more challenging.

And yet, she thought as she slid underneath the duvet; physically at least Krum had been far more impressive.

Just as her eyes drifted shut and sleep claimed her, a thought floated across her mind - what if there way to combine a Wronski Feint type dive with some of the Chasers moves…

And she slept.

The next thing she knew she was being shaken awake, helped by the screaming outside the tent.

"Come on, Isa! We've got to move - now!"

Isa shot upright, trying to clear her head of the fog at always seems to accumulate during peaceful sleep.

"What's wrong?" she asked, swinging her legs out of bed, simultaneously reaching for her coat.

"Don't know - Dad said to grab coats and shoes, and to meet everyone outside," Ginny said quickly, her eyes unusually dark and serious in the flickering candlelight.

Ginny was the first out of the tent, closely followed by the Hermione. Isa grabbed her wand hurriedly from under her pillow before following.

"There you are," Mr Weasley said, as they emerged from the tent and joined the boys in watching what was going on further down the hill.

The air was hazy with smoke. Bright flashes of light in the distance accompanied harsh, raucous laughter and screams. Isa peered through the smoke, looking for the source of the unsettling sound.

A gang of wizards wearing hooded masks pointed their wands up at the sky. High above them, four figures of varying sizes were suspended as if by strings of magic directed by the people below. The further the group walked, the bigger it grew and the rowdier it got. Tents started catching fire as they were kicked into smouldering fires. The noise got louder - both the screams and the laughter.

Isa peered harder at the struggling figures held aloft above the crowd. A family with two children, all four of them still in their nightwear. She vaguely remembered the father from when they'd first arrived.

"Are they Muggles?" Isa asked softly.

Hermione nodded, as white as a sheet.

" **That's sick," Ron muttered, watching the smallest Muggle child, who had begun to spin like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side. "That is really sick …"**

Bill, Charlie and Percy sprinted out of the boys tent towards the mass of people, fully dressed and with their wands already out in front of them.

" **We're going to help the Ministry,"**   **Mr Weasley shouted over all the noise, rolling his sleeves up. "You lot - get into the woods, and** _ **stick together.**_ **I'll come and fetch you when we've sorted this out!"**

Mr Weasley started running after his sons before he'd even finished speaking, joining the other Ministry wizards who were attempting to surround and control the crowd.

" **C'mon," said Fred, grabbing Ginny's hand and starting to pull her towards the wood.** As if attached to Fred by invisible strings of magic, the rest of them followed.

They all stopped to look back before delving into the treeline. The Ministry were having little success in getting the Muggle family down.

The group of wizards lifting the Muggle family was still growing, and they were getting closer. A shiver trickled like ice water down her spine.

Reluctantly Isa pulled her attention from the oncoming mass and onto the unlit path that wound its way through the trees. Every direction she looked she could see people stumbling through the woods, small children crying, and magical people more scared then they had been since 1981.

A yell came from behind her. She turned to look.

Ron was on the ground, illuminated by Hermione's wand light.

" **Tripped over a tree-root," he said angrily, getting to his feet again.**

" **Well, with feet that size, hard not to," said a drawling voice from** just off the path.

Draco Malfoy was standing alone, propped up against a tree, completely unperturbed by the screams in the distance that seemed to bounce off the trees. From the direction, he was facing it was clear that he'd been watching the scene in the campsite through the trees.

"Piss off, Malfoy," Ron snarled and stomped heavily in Isa's direction.

" **Language, Weasley," said Malfoy, his pale eyes glittering. "Hadn't you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn't like her spotted, would you?"**

He inclined his head towards Hermione and raised his eyebrows. A blast, not unlike a bomb, rippled through the air from the campsite.

" **What's that supposed to mean?"** asked Hermione, her chin raised.

" **Granger, they're after** _ **Muggles**_ **," said Malfoy. "D'you want to be showing off your knickers in mid-air? Because if you do, hang around … they're moving this way, and it'd give us all a laugh."**

Isa felt white hot anger start to build at the back of her head - the place she'd come to associate with Harry.

"Hermione's more of a witch then you are, Malfoy," Harry snarled.

" **Have it your way, Potter," said Malfoy, grinning maliciously. "If you think they can't spot a Mudblood, stay where you are.** "

" **You watch your mouth!" shouted Ron.**

" **Never mind, Ron," said Hermione quickly, seizing Ron's arm to restrain him as he took a step towards Malfoy.**

"You're talking out of your arse, Malfoy. There's no way to prove what blood status anyone is from looks alone," Isa added calmly.

A small smirk flitted across Malfoy's face. Isa's brow furrowed - why would he think that was amusing?

A large bang sounded, closer to them than any before. Several screams erupted straight after.

**Malfoy chuckled softly. "Scare easily, don't they?" he said lazily. "I suppose your daddy told you all to hide? What's he up to - trying to rescue the Muggles?"**

Isa felt Harry's temper rise as Ron got more red, " **Where are** _ **your**_   **parents? Out there wearing masks, are they?"**

Malfoy turned to Harry, a sneer on his face. " **Well… if they were, I wouldn't be likely to tell you, would I, Potter?"**

" **Oh, come on," said Hermione, with a disgusted look at Malfoy, "let's go and find the others."**

Isa grabbed the back of Harry and Ron's coats and hauled them away down the path.

" **I'll bet you anything his dad is one of that masked lot!" said Ron hotly.**

" **Well, with any luck, the Ministry will catch him!" said Hermione feverently. "Oh I can't believe this, where have the others got to?"**

No matter which way they looked, the missing Weasleys weren't anywhere to be found. Initially, the Weasley Twins had been walking a bit ahead with Ginny, so Isa supposed they could've just not realised that everyone else had stopped and had carried on. But still, they were supposed to stick together; they were all more vulnerable apart.

The path was gradually filling with more people the further along it they walked. After an incident of confused identity with some French students from the 'Beauxbatons Academy of Magic', the path cleared somewhat. Collectively they copied Hermione's example and cast 'Lumos' so they could see where they were going.

" **Ah, no, I don't believe it … I've lost my wand!"** Harry exclaimed. Isa didn't need the bond to know he was panicking - it was written across his face.

" **You're kidding?"**

With their wands, the three of them raised their wands up so as to illuminate as much of the woodland floor as possible. Peering desperately at the ground, they searched for the missing wand.

" **Maybe it's back in the tent," said Ron.**

" **Maybe it fell out of your pocket when we were running?" Hermione suggested anxiously.**

" **Yeah," said Harry, "maybe …"**

Isa took his hand and squeezed gently - trying to convey how it'd all eventually be okay. When they got back to the tent, they could have a look, and if it wasn't there, then Isa was fairly sure Hermione or Mr Weasley would know a spell that could locate it.

The bushes to the left of them rustled. Collectively they pointed their wands at it just as Winky the House-Elf from the Top Box earlier. She was moving very strangely as if something was holding her back.

" **There is bad wizards about!" she squeaked distractedly, as she leant forwards and laboured to keep running. "People high - high in sky! Winky is getting out of the way!"**

She crossed the path and entered the trees on the other side of the path, still panting and straining.

Isa peered ahead as the others discussed house-elf rights. The pain relief potion she'd taken earlier to prevent her from feeling the muscle strain in her rib area appeared to have worn off when she was asleep - the adrenalin numbing her side until now.

Thankfully, they came across a distraction in the form of three stunningly beautiful Veela. The distraction for Hermione and Isa was more the reaction of the menfolk (both their own and those already gathered around the Veela) then the actual Veela themselves. In particular, Ron's bold claim that he'd invented a broomstick that could reach Jupiter.

They continued down the path (after dragging Ron away from the Veela), and it was eventually decided that they'd stay in that part of the wood as no one else seemed to have got that far in.

Harry had barely finished suggesting this before Ludo Bagman stumbled out from behind a tree right ahead of them. He didn't look well; in fact, he looked positively ill.

" **Who's that?" he said, blinking down at them, trying to make out their faces. "What are you doing down in here, all alone?"**

They glanced at each other in confusion.

" **Well - there's sort of a riot going on," said Ron.**

**Bagman stared at him. "What?"**

" **On the campsite … some people have got hold of a family of Muggles …"**

"Bollocks!  **Damn them!" he said, looking quite distracted, and without another word, he Disapparated with a small** _ **pop**_ **.**

" **Not exactly on top of things, Mr Bagman, is he?" said Hermione, frowning.**

" **He was a great Beater, though. The Wimbourne Wasps won the league three times in a row while he was with them."**  Ron said, sitting down at the base of a tree on a patch of grass at the side of a small clearing.

Everything was quiet. It was quite shocking really, how little noise there was in comparison to when they'd been awoken.

You could even call it peaceful, Isa mused as she also sat down with her back against a tree. It would be so easy to fall asleep.

Instead, she thought back to herself and Harry's first major argument. It had taken place on Ginny's birthday when Isa'd finally gathered the courage to tell him what she suspected about the bond, and what she'd done when trying to master flying. He hadn't been happy about her invasion of privacy. Isa cringed even as she thought of it - she couldn't believe that she'd ever thought that'd been an acceptable thing to do. Apparently, Harry hadn't really noticed anything different until she'd brought it up. When he'd actually thought about it, it turned out that he'd been experiencing similar things…

 _Boys…_ Isa thought with a sigh.

" **MORSMORDE!"**

Isa jumped to her feet, heart beating fast. A vast, green, something shot into the air from nearby. The green light blossomed into a large green skull with a snake coming out of its mouth as a tongue would.

" **What the -?" gasped Ron, as he sprang to his feet** and stared straight up.

She quickly backed up, so she was standing next to the others with her wand out in front of her, scanning the darkness for whoever cast the spell.

Suddenly they were surrounded by noise - screams. Isa presumed that they were due to the skull in the sky that seemed to be getting higher and more luminous by the second. Recognition flashed through her mind as she recalled a description in a book she'd read on the last war.

The Dark Mark. Somehow the book's words hadn't done the thing justice.

" **Who's there?"** Harry called out into the darkness. Isa shifted slightly so she was closer to him so as to be able to protect both of them if necessary.

" **Harry, come on,** _ **move**_ **!" Hermione had seized the back of his jacket and was tugging him backwards.**

" **What'd the matter?" Harry said.**

Isa shook her head - her brother really did need to read more.

" **It's the Dark Mark, Harry!" Hermione moaned, pulling him as hard as she could. "You-Know-Who's sign!"**

" _ **Voldemort's -**_ **?"**

" **Harry, come** _ **on**_ **!"**

They started across the clearing. But before they could get very far, people started Apparating in around them, each with their wand pointing into the circle - pointing towards the four of them.

" **DUCK!"** yelled Harry.

" **STUPEFY!"**

 

**-TATATATAT-**

 

'SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP' read the Daily Prophets headline.

Molly Weasley snatched it up from the table that the post owl had dropped it on. The first time she read it, she barely took in what it was saying in her desire to know if her family was ok.

The second time, she took in every sentence. But upon reaching the end of the article, she knew her eyes hadn't missed anything - the paper said nothing about her family's safety.

The panic that had been simmering beneath the surface since she'd first seen the headline erupted full force.

The Dark Mark hadn't been seen in over a decade, but even in print, the fear it could evoke was just as potent now as it had been during he-who-must-not-be-named's reign of terror. Only now, it felt like she had so much more to lose. All of her children were at that game. And with the lack of information in the Prophet; for all she knew, every last one of them could be dead.

Arthur. What would she do without him? He may infuriate her at times, but a more loving, caring, kind husband you would not find. Molly's bottom lip trembled.

She bit back a sob, tears streaming down her face, she'd shouted at them before they left. What if the last thing Fred and George had known her to think was that they didn't get enough OWLS? What kind of mother would let their child die thinking that they were inadequate?

And the Potter twins - they'd just started living life as they should've since the start. Why would life be snatched away from them just as they got it back again?

No. She couldn't think like that. They had to be alive. All of them. To lose just one of them would devastate the rest of the family. There was no coming back from losing a child or a sibling at a young age. Burying someone who was meant to outlive you; that was just wrong.

Molly sat down at the table - next to her abandoned cup of tea - only to jump up again almost straight away when her brain supplied the names and faces of her family and where they sat at the table. No, she couldn't wait here. She had to know as soon as she could.

She moved onto the front porch, paper clutched like a lifeline in her hand. Here she had the perfect vantage point down the lane.

She didn't know how long she waited - it could've been ten minutes - but it was the longest wait of her life.

So when she saw the first hint of exhausted redheads, she was understandably extremely relieved.

" **Oh, thank goodness, thank goodness!"** she cried, hurtling down the lane towards the incoming party, " **Arthur - I've been so worried -** _ **so worried**_ **-"**

She launched herself at her husband forgetting about everything other than that he was here and absolutely not dead. Once again she had been reminded that life is precious and could be snatched from you or your loved ones in a second.

" **You're all right,"** Molly  **muttered distractedly, releasing Mr Weasley and staring around at them all with red eyes, "you're alive … oh,** _ **boys**_  …"

She grabbed Fred and George and pulled them into a tight hug. Never again would she leave things how she'd left things with the twins. She'd hate for them to die thinking that she was anything other than proud of them. And so she told them that.

" **Come on now, Molly, we're all perfectly OK," said Mr Weasley soothingly, prising her off the twins and leading her back to the house.**

They were alive. She couldn't believe it. They were all safe, and back, and absolutely not dead.

She slowly assimilated this as she was sat down at the table, and a mug of strong tea with a shot of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey was placed before her.

She smiled, as the kitchen came back to life from the dead state it'd been in for the past 24 hours. This was how she liked her Burrow - full and noisy - bursting at the seams with people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for this chapter being so quote heavy - I couldn’t think of another way to do it without just skipping the whole cup - I tried to integrate it as much as possible - I really don’t enjoy paraphrasing (unless its for essays I’m struggling to find material for xD) or quoting because it drags me out of my flow. Sorry if it feels a bit bitty as a result. There shouldn’t be too much more direct quoting apart from set canon events I can’t really change (thank god xD).  
> On the plus side - you guys got a chapter double the length of my usual chapters xD (I really don't know what happened there)   
> My exams are over (YAY!! FINALLY!) and so I have less work again so my plan is to get ahead in the number of chapters I have pre-written so I don’t have to do the whole ‘frantic typing at 7:30 on a Tuesday evening and then begging Cezza to read it before bed so I can post it’ shtick. There are a few monster chapters I know I’m going to struggle with in the future so this should hopefully keep the updates regular. :D As ever - I’ll do my best. 
> 
> P.S Sunrise was at 5:56 AM in England on roughly the 20th August :)


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